A Fresh Perspective
by crtclreader
Summary: It's not hard to be yourself and it's not impossible to completely reinvent when things change. Follow Sierra Brander as she recreates herself to find a place in the land of Middle-Earth and protect her newfound companions in the land's most trying of times. - Currently rated T, Pairing(s) pending (no slash), Canonical with the movie series, Slight tweaks to accomodate OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Being an introvert can make you seem standoffish, unsociable, and, generally, not very approachable. Being an introvert can also make it hard to step out of the metaphorical shell, find the right words to say, conduct behaviors comfortably, and even make friends. But being an introvert just means enjoying focusing on things on personal terms, preferring the company of animals or things that won't judge based on appearance or awkward moments, and, most commonly, being alone in a quiet space.

Sierra Brander was an introvert.

Sierra was small in stature, somewhat curvaceous, had shoulder-length cocoa-brown hair, and coppery brown eyes. She spent her days working in a plant nursery and her nights at home with her computer, tv, or phone to entertain and inspire her. Sierra had no pets, the landlord had dog and cat allergies and had a special hatred of anything that wasn't a human, plant, or inanimate object; thus, no one in the building had pets. Though Sierra suspected one of the tenants was keeping pigeons on the roof. To keep herself busy on her off-days, Sierra tended her patio garden of various vegetables and small fruit plants and often took walks in the park near her apartment complex to escape her noisy neighbors. As it was, Sierra was trying to drown out her partying neighbors with YouTube videos and music, but it wasn't quite working.

Looking outside, Sierra determined it'd be an hour until sunset. There was plenty of time for a quick stroll to the park, through it, and back to the apartment before the streetlights lit up. The party would probably still be going on, but if Sierra knew anything about her neighbors, the longer they had to get drunk and she to stay away, the less time she had to deal with their noise.

Sierra got dressed in her favorite gray turtleneck and tan overcoat, opted to stay in her lazy day black sweats, and crammed her socked feet into her winter boots. It was cool out with a little bit of snow on the ground, the tail end of March, and the trees were just starting to bloom with flowers and new leaves; a good time to go for a walk, if a little nippy. Leaving her apartment, Sierra regarded her neighbor's door and the amazing amount of noise coming from within: pulsing music, loud yelling, and gratuitous thumping against the door and walls. She didn't understand why people enjoyed such loud, crowded parties and really didn't want to understand. She quickly turned and hustled out of the complex, making her way to the now almost completely vacant park.

Hardly anyone was at the park at this time of day, let alone this time of year. The sun was going down, the last rays of light playing through the trees and making the small mounds of snow glow shades of orange, red, and yellow. The only noises were the squirrels chittering and digging up old nuts buried in the autumn, the fountain gurgling softly, the breeze going through the trees, and the distant sounds of traffic, barking dogs, and sirens. This was the kind of noise Sierra enjoyed. She took a seat on one of the chilly stone benches in the more densely forested area of the park and leaned into the backrest to relax. She barely thought that she was tired from the day before her eyes shut and she drifted into a nap.

* * *

Sierra's eyes snapped open when she heard a twig snap to her right. She shot up from her seat on the stones and found herself in post-sunset twilight.

"What happened?" Sierra asked herself, "I must've fallen asleep…but…" Looking around though, Sierra found her body was stiff and sore, the air was considerably warmer than it should have been, and, most importantly, she was in a different forest than the park she was so accustomed to. "I'm dreaming. I am dreaming. I must be." Sierra muttered as she unbuttoned her jacket and fiddled with the closure near the top. Again a noise came from her right, this time a rustle of leaves and soft muttering. This time Sierra ducked into the nearest bush and tried calming her breathing, her dilating eyes focusing on where the noises were coming from. '_I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming. This is too weird to not be a dream._' Sierra reasoned as several figures appeared through the brush: four of them, all small of stature, and all resembling…children, of all things, and every one of them excitedly talking quietly to each other. Less intimidated, Sierra emerged from the brush and started to approach the small people, finding they wore strange shirts and trousers that ought to look more at home in a Renaissance faire.

"And then Sam said, 'But ain't nobody'd got their name on it! The bread's as much mine as yours before coin has been placed!'" One of the more fair-haired people said as the others laughed, the black-haired one was nodding in confirmation.

"True! True!" another fair-hair joined in, "Old Mrs. Fester is always fighting everyone to get anything before they do! Greedy old goat!" Again they all laughed. At this point, Sierra was a few feet from them and stopped to clear her throat and announce her presence.

"H-hello? I'm-" but before she could say much, the four small people shouted, jumped, and turned to flee up the slope, as if they'd been rabbits who spotted a hunting dog. "Wait! Please!" Sierra called, but it was too late. All four of them had disappeared in amongst the trees and brush and Sierra once again found herself all alone in a strange place. '_Well,_' she thought, affronted at the small-peoples' quick-to-flee response, '_they must be running somewhere in a hurry. There must be a house or town nearby._' And with that thought, she made her way up the greenery-covered slope, only occasionally slipping on a loose rock. On cresting the hill, she saw a road leading to a small gate, one that was elegantly formed by arching twigs and sticks, and there was a sign beside it. On the sign was an elegantly carved text that read "Hobbiton". Sierra hurried into the gate and followed the path.

Along the way she saw many rolling hills with the road winding in, around, and between them and on the hills were a variety of fine old trees in a full jacket of foliage. There were finely assembled front gardens with wooden fences and doors of different shapes and colors, though they all looked varying shades of dark to Sierra. The first few houses were darkened on the inside, but there was one house that had a light showing on the inside and a fine round door with a metal handle in the dead center. The only discouragement was a sign reading "no admittance except on party business". Sierra wasn't there on any party business, but this was the first house with a light and she was game to try anything to find someone who might help her. Braving the potential wrath of the homeowner, Sierra entered the gate, approached the door, and knocked purposefully on the door.

"No, thank you!" called a male voice from within, "We don't want any!"

"Excuse me, sir?" Sierra started, calling loud enough so the person within could hear her, "I'm not here to sell anything-"

"And no well-wishers or distant relations are welcome either!" the voice interrupted.

"I'm not a well-wisher or a relative!" Sierra answered, getting frustrated, "I just need your help-"

"What could you possibly need the help of a hobbit for?" the voice remarked.

"If you would just open the door and stop interrupting me I would be more than happy to tell you!" Sierra all but shouted at the door. It was quiet a moment before she heard the sound of a latch being released and the door tentatively opened, revealing another small person, this one an older man with curly graying hair and again the older style of clothing. After a moment of studying the woman on his doorstep, he spoke again.

"Well? What is it you want, woman?" Sierra blinked and nodded quickly before starting.

"Sir, to make my story short, I am lost." She started, "I was resting in a park near my home and when I woke, I was just outside this place, Howbert-"

"_Hobbiton_, dear." He corrected.

"Right, Hobbiton." Sierra continued, "And when I woke up, I was just down a hill from the road and I have no idea how I got there. I know I'm bothering you, but I wonder if you could help me find some place to stay the night?" It went without saying that she was also asking if it would be alright to stay at this first house.

"Silly girl, there's an inn down the way, go there if you want a bed to sleep in." And thus the door was shut in her face.

"But I have no money!" Sierra responded pleadingly while the door remained shut and the occupant quiet. She had left her wallet behind in her apartment, really all of her belongings, and so truly didn't have a cent on her, but now after seeing the residents of this place, she questioned whether or not these people would even accept her money.

"Then find some other hobbit to help you! Good evening to you." And that seemed to be that. Frustrated and angry at the rude man…hobbit, Sierra corrected herself, she turned and made her way through the garden and just as she shut the gate behind her, she heard the sound of a door opening. Turning, she saw it was the door of the man she had argued with. Pursing her lips, Sierra returned to the road and continued towards the next house. Maybe she would find a kinder hobbit there. "Oh will you stop that?" the man's voice called behind her.

"Stop what?" Sierra asked, turning to face the diminutive man.

"Stop your walking, silly girl." the man said, "I will lend you a bed for the night." Perhaps guilt had gotten him? Or maybe he didn't want her spouting stories of being magically transported places? Either way, Sierra was glad to return to the hobbit's home and bowed her head to go inside.

* * *

"So, you just fell asleep on a bench and you woke up on some rocks down the way_ and_ you have no idea how you came here?" the man, Bilbo Baggins, asked as he poured Sierra a second cup of tea.

"No, I don't. I know it sounds impossible, but that's what happened." She answered honestly, having no need to hunch while she was seated. She was by no means tall, but her head had a scant few inches from the crown to the ceiling of the cozy hobbit hole and she needed to bow when she passed through doorways. "Again, I'm sorry for imposing on you. Thank you for allowing me to stay the night."

"Oh, it's really no trouble." Bilbo admitted, "And I suppose I should apologize as well. I have been harassed by all manner of man and hobbit as of late." Bilbo stood to collect a small plate of bite-sized cakes and placed it in between himself and Sierra. "It will be my birthday soon and relatives have been coming out of the woodwork to charm themselves into my will."

"Ah, well then congratulations and…uh…I suppose a sorry is in order," Sierra said awkwardly, taking a sip from her cup, "If it's not too much to ask, how old are you going to be?"

"One hundred and eleven, if you believe that." Bilbo answered, somewhat proud.

"One hundred and_ eleven_?" Disbelief was all over her face. "That's incredible!"

"Yes, yes, but it's been more of a bother than anything else." Bilbo muttered as he nibbled on a piece of cake, "So many Bagginses and Tooks. Knocking on my door and windows, day in and day out. If only it weren't for that blasted adventure they wouldn't be so eager to collect my house."

"Adventure?" Sierra asked curiously, inclining her head towards the hobbit.

"Indeed. It was a mere sixty years ago that I'd gone on an amazing adventure and made so many great friends. There were dwarves, elves, warriors, and a fierce, fiery dragon…oh, but you wouldn't want to hear a story like that." Bilbo dismissed, "It would take many hours to tell the tale and we have but the one night."

"Well…"Sierra started, "I have time. I would listen if you're willing to tell it."

"Hmm, well…alright. But get comfortable, miss Brander, this is a _long_ story." Bilbo admitted, "Many years ago, sixty as I said, I was sitting in the bench in my garden when an old wizard in a grey cloak and hat approached my gate…" and the story continued into the night, with Sierra only occasionally speaking to ask for clarification. It was deeply dark and very late when the story was finished and Sierra assisted Bilbo in cleaning up before following him to a cozy guest room. She'd settled into a spare nightgown, which rested more as a nightshirt on her, and curled into the small bed for the night. Sierra briefly wondered what she would do the next day, if she could find work, make some coin, and find a bed before the next night. Before she could ponder long, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**I intend for this story to be updated on a weekly basis, barring any emergencies or other obstacles.**

**Any kind of comment is greatly appreciated, though constructive criticism is most valuable.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

It had been nearly three months since Sierra found herself in the world of Middle-Earth. It was either pure luck or pure convenience that Bilbo Baggins allowed her to stay so long in his home of Bag End, but she was thankful for it all the same. Sierra had taken the time to learn as much as she could to assist the old hobbit and meet the other hobbits of the Shire. She had even met the hobbits she had seen the first night she arrived: Bilbo's nephew Frodo Baggins, Peregrin "Pippin" Took, Meriadoc "Merry" Brandybuck, and lastly Samwise "Sam" Gamgee, the last was the most heavy-set of the four friends while Pippin better resembled a rake. In that time, Sierra learned how to cook, clean, and get around without her modern tools and conveniences, though she had also taken to learning how to use animal traps and knives for her newly required survival skill of hunting. She was no master, but she had skill and was perfecting it on every day she practiced.

But Sierra had also been terribly homesick and her only reminders were the clothes she'd worn when she'd appeared in Hobbiton and her apartment keys. Worried for her plants, her bills, her friends, and her belongings, she'd hoped her family had been contacted on her absence. She assumed her mom had the police sent out to track her down, but she knew there was no way the police would magically appear in Middle-Earth as she had and just magically take her back home. But Sierra had made a friend of Bilbo Baggins and the other hobbits, and their friendship helped to fill the void her online friends and coworkers once filled. Though she still greatly valued the time she had to read books and think to herself, she was starting to very much enjoy the lifestyle of a hobbit.

At the beginning of her stay in Bag End, Sierra got glares and sneers for being one of the "big people" hobbits were none too fond of, but as time passed, Sierra became liked for inventing stories for the little children and learning the hobbit habits and practices and doing her best to earn her way. She worked odd jobs around the Shire and took her pelts and excess meat to the market to acquire some coin and purchase fitting sets of clothing and hunting gear for herself. Seeing as she was not a hobbit, Sierra's feet were not naturally as tough as the small people's feet, thus her need for custom slippers, boots, and shoes for her jobs were an expensive investment. Except when she had to work in the mud, because then it was all the better to not ruin her shoes at all and instead cake her feet and shins in the muck.

'_Well worth it all._' Sierra would think to herself often, for she liked the little hobbits quite a lot, even the grouchier ones. They all liked peace and quiet like she did, they grew a wide variety of flowers and foods like she did, and they took the time each day to take a moment and watch the clouds in the sky or read a book or enjoy a drink, just like she did. The only thing she hadn't partaken was the smoking of tobacco; though it was sweeter and more floral in Middle-Earth than back in her home town, smoking had never appealed to Sierra. They lived a life of regularity and none too much excitement, unless the troublemakers Merry and Pippin were involved, and in that notion, Sierra began to feel comfortable enough to call the Shire home.

One day, when she came back to the town from a trip to the forest for some rabbit or fox, she was surprised to see Bilbo out in his yard with an elderly man in gray clothing with long hair and a matching beard only a scant few shades lighter than his cloak. She had never seen him before, though the children often talked about and compared her to an elderly wizard who wore gray robes and carried a wooden staff where the end looked like it had been blown over in a wind storm. The man at Bilbo's side and his wooden staff fit the description to a tee.

"Ah, there she is!" Bilbo cheered as Sierra came up to the gate, "Gandalf, this is Sierra, the girl I've been telling you about."

"Well, that name sounds familiar," Sierra interjected as she entered the yard, "you wouldn't happen to be _the_ Gandalf would you? The Gandalf who disturbs the peace in all of Hobbiton, carries fanciful fireworks that enchant children, and takes certain hobbits on wild adventures?"

"Indeed I am." Gandalf answered with a hearty chuckle, "I take it mister Baggins has told you much about me?"

"He has, and so have the children and grouchy older folk around town." Sierra nodded with a smile, "It is a pleasure to meet you in person." Gandalf nodded in greeting and Bilbo settled himself to smoking his long pipe, the old wizard doing the same. "Do excuse me sirs, but I have a couple rabbits that need skinning and cleaning. Oh and I must get dressed for tonight's party! I hear it will be the best birthday party the Shire has ever seen." Sierra remembered as she entered the hobbit hole and got to work preparing the small animals. Time sped by as she hung the skins and meat to dry and changed into a custom crafted and fitted maroon dress and matching slippers.

As Bilbo's birthday party commenced, people danced, ate, drank, and took in the amazing and incredible fireworks. Sierra still hated loud parties, but this was one bash she could stand to attend for a short while at least. She had new friends and so many carefree characters to smile and laugh with. Maybe that's why she never liked parties back home, she hardly knew even half the people that would be attending. In the party, Sierra had taken time to sit and rest in the quieter parts of the party and even helped Gandalf to set up some fireworks in between dancing with the children and men. The most fabulous of the party was the dragon firework, the one Pippin and Merry had set off. It was magnificent and terrifying and was the perfect end to Gandalf's many fireworks. The old wizard was quick to punish the boys and put them to work cleaning dishes and cups. Soon enough, Bilbo had gotten on a pedestal and started a birthday speech to his many friends and family, Sierra seated herself in the back near Gandalf to help keep the troublemakers in line.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins," a loud cheer erupted, "Tooks and Brandybucks," more cheers, "Brubs," a section cheered, "Jubs," another. At this point, Sierra could not hear her friend over the loud and raucous cheers of the partygoers. "Today is my one hundredth and eleventh birthday!" again more cheers. Sierra briefly wondered if she would need an ear horn after this party. "Alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits." He sent a silent nod to Gandalf and Sierra in the back and they raised their cups in regard. "I don't know half of you half as well as I should like and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve." That one fell flat with the crowd, but Sierra chuckled at the comment. "I, uh…" Then Bilbo's hand drifted towards his right vest pocket and Sierra felt a strange tension at this act, "I, uh…have things to do…" he was mumbling now, his hand entirely in his pocket now as he gripped something. With a tight fist, he removed his hand from his vest and moved both hands behind his back. Sierra glanced at the old wizard next to her; he had sensed something was amiss too. Sierra saw him whisper something as he stared blankly out at the quiet and now questioning crowd. "I regret to announce this is the end…I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell." Something was indeed very wrong, and Sierra stood and sent a questioning look at Bilbo. Before everyone's eyes, Bilbo Baggins vanished into thin air.

* * *

It was some time later when Sierra returned to the hobbit hole. It had taken a long while for the crowd to be calmed, the crockery and utensils cleaned up, and everyone sent back home or to the pub. When she opened the door, she found Gandalf rushing out the door and out the front gate, bidding her a hurried 'good evening' on his way. He moved far too fast for her to catch up. So she moved into the hobbit hole and found Frodo standing at the door holding a sealed envelope.

"There you are Frodo. Is Bilbo here? Why was Gandalf…" but she stopped, seeing the dumbstruck expression on the young hobbit's face.

"My uncle is gone, Sierra." He muttered, "He'd been talking about travelling for ages now. You know, you've been here long enough." Suddenly he glanced up and turned to her, "Do you know where he is? Where he might have gone? Did Bilbo tell you anything at all?" When Frodo had grabbed her arms to ask her this, she gripped his shoulders just a little firmer and guided him to a chair in the sitting room near the entryway.

"Easy, Frodo Baggins. Calm yourself." Sierra said as she forced him into the chair and he released her arms. When he had taken time to breathe, she took a neighboring chair and spoke to him calmly. "You know as much as I where Bilbo has gone. And you said it yourself, he had been talking about it for ages. I am sure that wherever he is, Bilbo is safe." Frodo nodded and fingered the envelope thoughtfully, the sealing wax still warm and soft.

"He left it all to me." Frodo said softly, "The whole of Bag End and its contents." Sierra kept a calm eye levelled at the hobbit and watched his composed, gentle demeanor return. "Of course, you're welcome to stay as long as you like, Sierra. It should be a while before I can figure out how everything should be tended to on my own." Frodo said quickly, "And…to be honest, I'd like a friend's company in my uncle's absence." This brought a smile to Sierra's face. All too soon, time passed to a late hour and both retired to their respective beds, planning to sort out what Frodo wanted to keep, distribute, and dispose of in the coming days.

Sierra rolled around in her small bed, finding sleep hard to come by. After almost an hour, she gave up and sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes and staring into the dark of her bedroom. She looked towards the small writing desk that occupied a corner of her room; on top were quills, papers, vials of ink, and a small red box that was barely bigger than a grown man's fist. Sierra got up, grabbed the box from the desk, and sat back down on her bed with it. She opened the box and pulled out her apartment keys, three of them attached by a single key ring. She fingered the three silvery metallic pieces: one for her apartment, one for her mailbox, and the last a spare key for when she visited her parents on holidays. Suddenly feeling tired again, Sierra returned to her bed, her keys gently contained in her hand, and drifted to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Nearly two weeks had passed since Bilbo and Gandalf's sudden disappearances that night. Frodo was out having a grand time at the tavern with his friends when he and Sam heard rumors from the older hobbit men of strangers riding around and through the Shire. On his return home, he staggered a little from the ale and stepped on a note left on the floor of the entryway. It read:

_Gone to deliver furs to Farmer Proudfoot._

_Will be home tomorrow._

_- Sierra_

Frodo was glad for Sierra's friendship. It made the ache caused by his missing uncle less painful, though he still worried every day for the elderly hobbit's wellbeing. Perhaps though, on this night, he could afford to be more worried of other things. Bag End was pitch dark, except for the low lights of dying candles, and there seemed to be a creak pervading through the whole of the home. Frodo discovered a window had been left open, or had been opened, and the whole place sounded of a whispering wind. Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and Frodo whirled around in fright to come face to face with the tired, terrified face of the wizard Gandalf.

"Is it secret? Is it safe?" And indeed, the envelope that had been left to Frodo was safe, buried in a chest. Gandalf was gripped by a strange fear Frodo had never seen, and when he procured the envelope, the old wizard snatched it up and threw it into a freshly lit fire. As the envelope burned, the ring was revealed. On that night, Frodo learned the true depth of the meaning behind the golden ring, and how dangerous it truly was created to be.

* * *

Sierra was taking a short path through the brush the next day, excited to get back to Bag End and wash up and finish one of Bilbo's old story books, when she spotted two hobbits with large bags some distance off. Squinting and trying to look harder, she recognized the two hobbits and chased them down, calling to them when she was a few yards away. They paused and regarded their human friend.

"Hello Sam…Frodo…where…are you two…headed?" Sierra huffed and puffed when she'd caught up to them.

"I…we…we're headed nowhere." Sam said shiftily, "Just out for a walk is all."

"Oh no…you aren't. Frodo…you're not…chasing after your uncle…are you?" Sierra was slowly catching her breath and Frodo sent Sam a pleading look. The two seemed to have a silent conversation just by looking at each other and Sierra's playful attitude instantly dissipated. It was quiet for a few seconds longer when Sierra asked, "This is about something else…isn't it?"

"It is," Frodo admitted, "and it's more dangerous than you could imagine, Sierra." He took a deep breath and quietly asked her to go home and watch Bag End for him until his return. Sierra's brows knit together and a frown came to her face.

"No." Sierra said stubbornly, "If this trek is so dangerous, I should go with you. I can use knives and traps far better than either of you." Suddenly she had a thought, "Wait…do you even have any weaponry? Anything at all?" Sheepishly, they admitted they had but knives for meat and dining, nothing else. Finding that having settled it, Sierra went with the two hobbits, promising she would do her best to help them when they need her.

She wished she'd had the chance to return to Bag End and collect more supplies, but she was thankful to have all her travel gear, even though it could have done with a good washing. In this first day of travel, Frodo had told Sierra the roughest description of the story behind their quest, giving her a last chance to back out. She didn't. The trio passed through wood, grass, and farmland, finally taking the time to rest as the sun was setting and prepared dinner for themselves. It seemed only a short rest when they all heard a soft, musical sound of in the distance.

"Sam, Sierra." Frodo whispered, drawing the attention of his companions to listen. With a smile, Frodo proclaimed the source, "Wood Elves." Quickly, the three lowered the fire and abandoned their dinner, choosing instead to run up the hill and see the elves. Sierra had heard of Wood Elves from Bilbo's stories and from the books he kept in Bag End, but to see them was something she could never have imagined. The three hid behind a log and watched the procession of elves before them. Sierra held in a gasp. They were beautiful, far more than the books and stories could describe, and they seemed to have an ethereal glow all their own as they travelled. Some walked, others rode on horseback, and some carried fluttering banners, but all seemed to sing the melodic elvish tongue into the quiet night.

"They're going to the harbor beyond the white towers…" Frodo stated. Sierra didn't know of the white towers or what exactly Frodo implied, but the beautiful march seemed to suddenly become sad. "…to the Gray Havens." The black-haired hobbit finished.

"What does that mean?" Sierra asked quietly.

"They're leavin' Middle-Earth." Sam answered.

"Never to return." Frodo finished. So that was why it was such a sad procession.

"I don' know why." Sam said softly, "It makes me sad."

"It's a song of goodbye." Sierra muttered. Sierra remembered every text and every story of elves saying they were an immortal people, dying only in battle and of heartbreak. She read also the sad tales of elves that would travel to the undying lands of elves and never return. Sierra's throat seemed to close on itself and her eyes pricked with threatened tears. The song of the elves while beautiful was also a song of tragedy, resembling a funeral. Soon, the three couldn't bear watching the procession any longer and quietly made their way back to camp.

Dinner was eaten, the fire settled down to be safe through the night, and bedrolls were set up. Sierra took the first watch and would wake Sam when she could stay awake no longer, then Sam would wake Frodo to take the pre-dawn watch. While Sierra knew the elven procession was long over, she imagined she could still hear the echoes of their mournful song throughout her peaceful and lonesome watch, her beloved keys clanked together softly as she handled them in her pocket. It was a small comfort, but a treasured one.

Sierra was glad for their cold comfort.

* * *

**Remember, I plan to have this story updated on a weekly basis: a new chapter every Wednesday.**

**Feel free to leave comments. Constructive criticism is most appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

It was another day of travel for the two young halfling men and the human woman. In their trek, the three covered a good deal of ground and fairly quickly despite the heavy packs they carried. While they were travelling in Farmer Maggot's cornfield, Frodo and Sierra had gotten slightly ahead of Sam and slipped out of sight upon rounding a corner in the tall, leafy produce.

"Mister Frodo?" Sierra heard Sam a little ways off, "Frodo? Frodo?!" Quickly the two rounded a corner in the path of the cornfield and Sam sighed heavily in relief. "I thought I'd lost you…"

"What are you talking about?" Frodo asked innocently.

"It's just somethin' Gandalf said." Sam admitted, catching Sierra's attention. She had missed the hobbits being assigned their mission, and judged whatever Sam said about Gandalf to be important.

"What did he say?" Frodo prompted gently.

"'Don' you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' An' I don' mean to." Sierra quietly pocketed the words for herself. She was part of this adventure now and Frodo was the key to it all. If keeping him safe and keeping an eye on him is Sam's charge, Sierra would choose to take it on as her task as well as Sam's.

"Sam, we're still in The Shire. What could possibly happen?" Frodo asked.

"He's right, Frodo." Sierra interjected, "We can't take this mission lightly, even while we're still in-" but she was interrupted when two figures came crashing through the corn and knocked over both Sam and Frodo. Taking a startled step back, Sierra realized she recognized the two figures.

"Frodo!" Pippin said as he got up off the hobbit, "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!"

"Hello Frodo!" Merry greeted while Sam roughly shoved him and Pippin away from his friend.

"Get off him!" he said, "Are you alright, Frodo?" He pulled the black-haired hobbit up off the ground and helped dust him off.

"What's the meaning of this?" Sierra asked as Merry and Pippin proceeded to collect their loot: cabbages, carrots, and other herbs and greenery. They handed the produce to Sam.

"You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" Sam accused. Sierra turned when she heard the close, loud barks of a dog coming from the right. When they all turned and spied the farmer's scythe and heard him shouting, it was silently agreed that they'd all run as far and as fast away as they could from the angry hobbit. Frodo, Merry, and Pippin ran first while Sam turned again to see how far the farmer was.

"Run Sam!" Sierra half whispered as she grabbed his wrist and pulled him the way the others had gone, causing him to drop the produce and stagger as fast as he could after them. Sierra managed to stop herself short enough to keep from colliding with the three hobbits ahead of her, but Sam was not to be easily stopped and barreled into them from behind, Sierra remaining on the steep hill while the others tumbled down it. She glanced back for a second and then proceeded to skid down the hill after the halflings. She ended up landing on the road with far more grace than the males. Three of them were whispering and talking over a mound of mushrooms, but Frodo stood in the road, a peculiar look on his face.

"Frodo?" Sierra asked cautiously as she approached him, "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine…but…" he looked around nervously, "I think we should get off the road." Suddenly a piercing screech had Frodo's head turned towards the darker direction of the road and a cold breeze stirred the leaves at their feet.

"Frodo…" Sierra was starting to worry now.

"Get off the road! Quick!" No one contested Frodo's panicked command and they all rounded a tree on the side of the road, tucking themselves deep under the outcrop of roots. Sierra didn't quite fit with the four hobbits and hurried to a similar tree just a little further down the road. "Sierra!"

"Stay there!" She commanded, "Hide! Don't let them see you!" And with that she swung under the overhang of roots and pulled her knives from her belt, just in case. Suddenly, the forest was put in a suffocating silence and the five huddled in their hiding places, stilling their breath and waiting. The whole environment seemed to chill and become dark in an instant. It seemed like cursed magic when a black as night horse and his matching rider arrived down the path. Sierra watched, terrified, as the armored and cloaked rider paused at the hobbits' hiding place. '_Don't find them. Don't see them. Please don't see them._' The clang of metal boots landing on the road made her heart and the hearts of the hobbits leap in further terror. Sierra watched as the figure hunched over the roots and sniffed around, as if sensing the hobbits' presence, or rather, the thing that Frodo was protecting.

After a minute, one of the hobbits flung some gear around the other side of the tree, falsely alerting the black being and causing it to shriek and take off that way. When the hobbits ran down the hill, Sierra was quick to follow, her weapons quickly sheathed and her feet flying to catch up to her small companions. The group paused a short time later at the bottom of a hill to catch their breath.

"What was _that_?" Merry asked while he and Pippin rested on the ground. Sam was panting with his hands on his knees, Sierra against a tree, and Frodo seemed far more disturbed for the experience. Then Sierra saw it, the cursed gold ring Frodo was telling her about. It rested in his hand innocently, but Sierra could feel the darkness the ring held; it oozed evil.

Sierra questioned whether or not she wanted to run back to Bag End and hide.

* * *

The five had been fleeing for what felt and truly had been hours. They were exhausted, but every scream from their ghoulish pursuer echoed through the wood and spurred them on to their destination. More than once they stumbled on bushes, rocks, and tree roots, but they were hell bent on escape and the safety the town of Bree promised them. But every time they thought they'd escaped the rider, it would appear before them, just as threatening as before. They spotted a small dock with a ferry attached; it wasn't the best escape, but it could buy them time. Taking the chance to distract the rider, Frodo cried out and ran around him and Sierra swiped her blades, hoping to spook the horse, while Merry, Pippin, and Sam freed the boat. When the boat was released, Sierra helped them aboard, leaped the short distance easily and helped catch Frodo when he made a desperate leap onto the vessel, and finally they could breathe in their heap on the ferry.

"He would topple us if he jumped." Sierra muttered.

"What'd…you say?" Sam asked, breathless.

"The boat. If he tried to jump on and catch us, he'd send us and himself into the water." Sierra clarified.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" Frodo asked, still panicked.

"Brandywine Bridge." Pippin answered, taking the rudder of the boat, "Twenty miles." Twenty miles was a long way to ride and by the looks of the two riders who joined the troupe's pursuer, the shadowy figures were bent on getting to the bridge as fast as they could. Bree had to be close, _needed_ to be close.

* * *

Carefully, quietly, and with their dark hoods drawn up to hide their faces, the four hobbits and human made their way from the boat stop, up the bank, and into the cover of the forest. It was by this time that the sky opened up on them and added slick, wet conditions to the challenge of getting to Bree. Eventually, the five all made it to a small building on a road, the gateway into Bree.

"Come on." Frodo murmured, leading everyone across the road and to the door. Sierra watched the road carefully while Frodo knocked firmly on the wooden surface. A panel towards the top of the door opened and an old, lightly-wrinkled face peered out. The door shut and a lower panel halfway down the door opened, again revealing the same face.

"Wha' da ya want?" The person asked.

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony." Frodo responded, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. The panel shut and they heard a latch being undone. Then the whole door opened and the figure, Sierra couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, held out a lantern to get a better look at the visitors.

"'Obbits!" they remarked, "Four 'obbits! An' a girl too!" Sierra huffed lightly, but kept her eyes focused on the roadway. "What's more, out o' the Shire are ya! What business brings ya ta Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn." Frodo answered, "Our business is our own." The person seemed satisfied with the answer and gave a curt nod.

"Awright young sir, I mean' no offense." the person, Sierra decided it was a man, turned and allowed all five into the doorway, "It's my job to ask questions aftuh nightfaw. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can' be too careful." He closed the door after Sierra passed through, the last of the five, and they all waded through the muggy and muddy town of Bree. There were men on the sides of the road, most of them filthy, all of them wet, and some more than a little grabby when Sierra got too close. Eventually they came upon a wooden sign featuring a rearing horse that read "The Prancing Pony".

Finally, they'd made it. And Gandalf was waiting for them.

Inside was far more crowded than outside, but it was also far more pleasant by being warm, mostly dry if you excuse the puddles of ale, and sheltered. The four hobbits pulled down their hoods, excited to finally have a rest from the black riders chasing them, but Sierra kept her hood up, preferring to keep a shield between herself and the grabbing hands of drunken men. It seemed to her that men didn't differ much from world to world when alcohol got involved.

"Excuse me. Excuse me!" Frodo asked at the ledger at the bar's opening. He went unnoticed, as he was too short to look over the bar and address the man directly.

"Let me try." Sierra moved in front of the group and lightly banged her hand on the counter, "Excuse me, barkeep." Being taller, though only by one and a half feet or so, Sierra was noticed quickly and the barman wandered over.

"Good evenin' lass…oh! And little masters. What can I do for you?" The barman greeted, noticing the four hobbits in Sierra's company. He was remarkably pleasant compared to all the other men they'd seen in Bree. "If you're lookin' for accomodation, we got some nice, cozy 'obbit-sized rooms available. Always proud to cater to little folk." Suddenly his pleasantness seemed sarcastic to Sierra.

"I do hope you are sincere, barman." Sierra said with a narrowed glare, immediately getting the barkeep's attention again, "My friends and I have had a trying time reaching Bree."

"Oh yes, yes, don't you worry lass." The apparently genuine barman assured her, again turning towards Frodo, "We'll get you all set up right as rain. Now, what can I help you with mister…"

"Underhill. My name's Underhill." Frodo lied; it was a good idea to use fake names. Sierra quickly plotted using her mother's full maiden name if she needed to. The barman seemed unsure. "We're friends of Gandalf the Gray, can you tell him we've arrived?" That was pushing it, and Sierra's glance switched between Frodo and the barkeep cautiously.

"Gandalf?" The barman puzzled, "…Gandalf?" Then Frodo's desperate look seemed to spark a memory, "Oh yes! I remember! Elderly chap, big gray beard, pointy hat." Frodo nodded sincerely with a small smile. "Not seen 'im for six months." Frodo's smile disappeared and Sierra flexed her hidden hand in and out of a tight fist to keep her agitation and worry from her face. The four hobbits convened and Sierra sighed heavily and glanced around the crowded room. From her vantage point, she could scan much of the bar and didn't trust any of the men she could see, especially the man hiding in the dark corner booth. "I uh, I take it you all were plannin' to meet 'im here?" The barman asked, concerned.

"Yes, we were." Sierra answered, "He promised to meet us."

"Perhaps he got held up 'long the way." The man said, "Been talk of strange men riding on black horses. Lots o' folk are shaken up cause o' them." Then he noticed the despondent faces on the hobbits. "'ey now, no need to be upset. I'm sure your Gandalf will turn up. Tell you what, I'll set you all up with some food and drink and let you mull over things, eh? How's that sound?"

"Thank you sir," Sierra started, "We'd be glad for time to eat and rest." Gently, she herded the hobbits into the bar and the man led them to an open table. Merry, Pippin, and the bags occupied one side and Frodo, Sam, and Sierra occupied the other. It felt nice to get the weight off their backs, but they still couldn't shake their unease. Where was Gandalf? Who was chasing them? Why was that stranger staring at them? Sierra stared at the man in the corner and could swear she'd seen the white of his eyes glitter from under his hood. If she were completely honest, the man scared the living daylights out of her, almost as much as the riders did. Frodo stopped the barkeep as he passed and asked him the question Sam and Sierra both pondered.

"Excuse me," the man knelt down to better hear Frodo, "That man in the corner, who is he?" the man's head turned to regard the stranger and then turned back to Frodo before quietly answering.

"He's one o' them rangers." The barman said, "Dangerous folk, they are, roamin' the wilds. What his real name is, I never 'eard, but 'round here, he's known as Strider." Strider. A strange and dangerous man who'd done nothing but sit and watch the party of five since they'd arrived. It gave Sierra the shivers. The four at the table consisted of Merry, Frodo, Sam, and Sierra while Pippin had gone to collect a pint of ale from the bar while Merry nursed his own. Suddenly, their ears perk when they hear the loud-mouthed hobbit of their group speak behind them.

"Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins! He's over there." silently, Sierra cursed Pippin's wide open gob and Frodo's face paled when Pippin indicated his location with the pint cup. "Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side, and I-" Frodo then immediately stood and hurried to get his friend. Sierra rose immediately after and hurried to keep an eye on her friend. Frodo grabbed Pippin's arm, to shut him up, but was interrupted when he misstepped over a stranger's foot and fell backward. Everything seemed to slow as Sierra watched Frodo fall and a peculiar golden glint fly through the air and land squarely on Frodo's finger. Like Bilbo Baggins, Frodo had instantly disappeared.

'_Oh no._' Sierra thought, panic rising in her as the bar erupted into whispers and murmurs. She searched frantically for him, cursing Pippin again and again for his never-ending words and cursing Frodo for not having safely pocketed the ring. She looked around in a panic, the bargoers moving around just as frantically, and suddenly saw the stranger from the corner hunching over Frodo his hand clenched in the hobbit's shirt fabric. She hurried over as fast as she could but the man called Strider had forced Frodo upstairs into one of the rooms. She slammed open the door and found the stranger near the window, his hood finally down and Frodo nearer to the door. "Frodo!" Her shout caught Strider's and Frodo's attention and Frodo assured her he was alright.

"Your _champion_, mister 'Underhill'?" He asked. Sierra finally got a good look at Strider. He was rugged and worn from travel, his beard had gone unshaven for a few days, his hair was dark and wavy but looked almost caked with sweat, and his eyes belied a weariness Sierra was beginning to feel after their long and trying day. But he carried himself casually and with confidence, he knew she was no threat to him and she knew he was a bigger threat than he portrayed.

"No, my _friend_." Frodo answered, holding his ground. Sierra stood strong beside him, her hands itching to take hold of her knives. "Who are you?"

"Are you frightened?" The man asked condescendingly. Sierra scowled from under her hood.

"Yes." Frodo answered honestly after a pause.

"Not nearly frightened enough." Strider remarked, "I know what hunts you."

"What are they, then?" Sierra asked. Strider seemed about to answer, but then the three other hobbits stormed in, bearing makeshift weapons of furniture and candlesticks and Sam with his fists. Strider drew a long sword, prepared to face a far more threatening foe than three hobbits.

"Let him go! Or I'll have you, long shanks!" Sierra was glad they so bravely came to Frodo's defense, but silently prayed they'd choose the carving and dining knives from the table next time around.

"You have a stout heart, little hobbit." Strider commented, placing his sword back in its sheath. "But that won't save you. You can no longer wait for your wizard, Frodo. They're coming." Sierra was scared now for a different reason. This man seemed to be on their side, but what could he do against the black riders? How did he intend to help the hobbits and woman?

* * *

**Wednesday is update day. Tune in next week for a new chapter.**

**Please feel free to leave a comment and know that I love constructive criticism.**

**Oh and I've noticed that every now and again I will goof and misspell something. If you spot one that I missed, please let me know in a private message with the error and exactly where you found it and I will fix the error. This story is entirely a solo project, with no proofreader to check any mistakes I might make, so accidents are bound to happen.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Strider had taken a seat in the window of the cramped room and watched the road carefully. Sierra had taken a place near the door, intending to hold a vigil there in case of the black riders. Unfortunately, Sierra was greatly worn by fleeing the riders earlier and while the hobbits all slept peacefully in the room, Sierra was quickly fading.

"You should sleep while you can, miss Brander." Strider whispered to her. Sierra shook her head to clear the cobwebs and assured him she was fine, but it was very late and she was very tired. She must have been, for the next moment she was lifted from her seat and assisted to lying down in a bedroll on the floor. Having no more fight in her, Sierra quickly fell deep asleep and Strider, who was more practiced at maintaining watch and working through his weariness, returned to his place in the windowsill. His breath stilled when he noticed four riders seemingly cloaked by the shadows galloping into town. Gingerly, he rested a ready hand on his sword and waited.

It was not long before the hobbits and Sierra all woke with a start, the sound of horses screaming loudly in the night was quickly echoed by the high-pitched, furious screeches of the four horsemen. It appeared the troupe's trick had worked. It was an old one that even Sierra had used once to escape her parents' home when she was grounded: stuff the beds with pillows and make it appear as if there was a body sleeping soundly beneath the covers. Having gotten no more than a few minutes of rest, Sierra was quick to start drifting again when Frodo quietly asked Strider the question everyone wondered.

"What _are_ they?" Strider was quiet a moment before answering. Another screech rang out.

"They were once men," he started, "great kings of men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one they'd fallen to darkness. Now they are slaves to his will." He glanced out the window and watched the riders, still screeching, saddle up and prepare to ride into the night once again. "They are the Nazgûl. Ringwraiths. Neither living nor dead." Another screech rang out and a shiver ran down Sierra's spine. She was right to think them akin to ghouls then, but felt a strange pity towards the riders; they were fools who had fed their greed and got nothing but an eternal sentence of slavery to an evil lord. "At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you…" it was a moment of quiet between them all then. "Get some rest, all of you. We still have a long journey ahead of us." With the suffocating presence of the Nazgûl riders gone, the hobbits and Sierra all found a much easier time getting to sleep again with the wraiths deterred. Eventually, even Strider slipped into a peaceful, if short, rest.

* * *

Dawn had yet to break, but the four hobbits and two humans hurried to pack, eat, and resume their journey. As the party trekked into the forest, Frodo asked Strider where he was leading them. Strider's only answer was "Into the wild." It was safe in the respect that few would ever see them in their travels, but dangerous too, with wild animals and rogues like Strider. For Sierra, if she could choose between the dangers of the wilds versus the Nazgûl, she would take to the wilds any day. In the front of the party was Strider, in the middle were the four hobbits, and lastly there was Sierra, who paused every now and again to check behind the party when she heard or felt something out of sorts. With them, there was Strider's horse, Bill; a fine brown pony with a blond mane and tail, a white blaze on his nose, and a white sock on each foot. The equine bore the gear for all of them, except weapons, allowing the party to move much quicker. At one point in the journey, Merry whispered to Frodo.

"How do we know this _Strider_ is a friend of Gandalf?" Frodo took a moment to study their guide.

"I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, feel fouler." The black-haired hobbit answered.

"He's foul enough." Merry agreed.

'_But certainly not of the fairer sort._' Sierra's thoughts chimed in, reminded of his greasy, road-worn appearance.

"We have no choice but to trust him." Frodo finished. She didn't think she could ever trust Strider, heck, she knew right now she couldn't trust the man as far as she could throw him. But what choice did the party have? Strider knew what those things were, or was that a lie? Though, he did help keep them safe the night before and didn't carry the same or even a similar oppressing aura that Nazgûl at the tree roots did.

"But where is he leading us?" Sam whispered.

"Rivendell, master Gamgee." The hobbit started when the man answered, not realizing Strider could hear him. "The House of Elrond." Sierra glanced at him a moment. She had recognized the name Elrond from the stories at Bag End and from Bilbo, it was with the stories of other Wood Elves and told that Elrond was a very important elf. The hobbits knew of Rivendell and whispered excitedly amongst themselves about seeing the elves. Though Sierra was quiet about it, she too was excited to meet them.

Strider led them all up steep hillsides and through woods thick enough for Merry to touch two trees with his arms spread out wide. They passed through woods with few clearings and crested lands high enough to see for many miles around. Sierra couldn't hope to see the Shire or even Bree anymore for all the trees and spreads of land they'd covered. This went on for about two hours when Pippin yelped in surprise for stepping in the cold high-elevation snow. A few yards later and the hobbits and Bill paused to catch their breath in the thinning air, Sierra stood on the opposite side of the road, keeping watch.

"Gentlemen." Strider addressed, "We do not stop 'til nightfall."

"What about breakfast?" Pippin asked.

"You've already had it." Strider remarked.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin replied, "What about _second_ breakfast?" Sierra stifled a laugh, she knew that the hobbits had an almost instinctive craving to eat and snack throughout the day. Second breakfasts, second lunches, and they even went so far as to request third dinners and elevensies if the time and quantity allowed. Without another word, Strider moved onward, Sierra following dutifully and beckoning her friends to come with a pitying glance. Then Strider shuffled through his bag and Sierra looked at him questioningly.

"Watch this." He muttered, pulling out an apple and lobbing it towards the hobbits. Merry caught it effortlessly and patted Pippin on the shoulder reassuringly. Strider even handed an apple to Sierra, who took it gingerly before taking a cautious bite. She was surprised. The apple was firm, juicy, and very sweet. Briefly, she wondered how he kept apples so pristine when Sierra, who was always so careful when buying apples, always ended up bruising them before they've even reached the table. Soon, every hobbit and human had an apple and they all were munching as they went. It seemed to be a silent agreement among the hobbits that a lonely apple was no standard second breakfast, but was certainly better than no second breakfast at all.

* * *

In time, the travelers found themselves wading through a marsh. Sierra had the wit to adjust the packs on Bill's back so they didn't dip into the foul mucky water, but unfortunately couldn't escape getting caught waist-deep in some places. The marsh had made their progress infinitely slower, especially when one or more of the party members would get stuck and needed rescuing. After the first rescue, Sierra wrapped a coil of rope around her like a bandolier and suggested the others have lengths of rope handy, just in case. Additionally, the marsh was also home to clouds of mosquitoes, which greatly irritated everyone and left them with itching spots all over their hands, faces, and the hobbit's legs and feet.

When night did finally fall, the hobbits sat to rest on the driest bit of land they could find and the humans split up to collect fire wood and food. Strider proved a proficient hunter and returned to the impromptu campsite with a young, fat buck. There wasn't much dry material in the way of firewood or kindling, so Sierra returned with a very slightly damp armful of firewood and a small bag filled with moss and the driest grass she could find. It was well enough there wasn't a big fire, any kind of light could alert pursuers or rogues to their position, though Pippin complained it'd take forever to cook dinner with such a pitiful flame.

The night was damp, cool, and dark, but the party ate reasonably well and rested decently in their bedrolls, despite the bugs and itching. Each hobbit and human had taken shifts, so everyone had slept a great deal more than the night of the Nazgûl attack. Strider had taken the first watch and kept himself up with a murmured song that sounded elvish to Sierra, and in its strange, sad melody she was lulled to a dreamless sleep. It seemed only a moment later that Frodo was gently shaking her awake for the dawn watch, but she was grateful for the rest and gladly took up her turn.

It was a half-light hour, not quite dawn, but not quite night either, and the sun would not rise for another half hour at least. Unfortunately, this was also a time of activity for the biting bugs. To keep them from biting every piece of her, Sierra put on thick gloves and wrapped herself in her cloak and hood, leaving only her eyes and the bridge of her nose exposed. She would swat at the bugs invading her vision when they became numerous enough, and quietly kept watch while Frodo began to set up the morning's fire from what was left after a venison dinner. Time soon marched on and the sun had crested the hills it hid behind, only to almost immediately disappear into the thick cloud cover over their heads.

Eventually, everyone woke, ate, packed, and set out again, the poor hobbits feebly trying to keep from scratching at the growing itchy welts. It seemed the mosquitoes had preferred the hobbits, because while Sierra and Strider had itched, they didn't feel the need to scratch half as badly as the halflings did. Their travels soon took them out of the swamp and deep into dry highlands at the foot of some mountains Sierra couldn't recall the names of. Perhaps they were the Misty Mountains she'd seen on maps. Strider paused when they reached a peculiar aged structure in this terrain.

"This was the great watchtower of Amon Súl." He commented, turning to the other five, "We shall rest here tonight."

"You're sure it's safe?" Sierra asked skeptically. Perhaps it was that she played too many games back home that had a medieval setting, but every watchtower in every one of those games had some enemy or challenge that needed to be beaten. Though she greatly doubted undead corpses lay within.

"Indeed." Strider started, "No one's been in there for many years. What's there now won't be more than a few rats and small spiders." Satisfied, the hobbits followed Strider and eventually Sierra did too with the tiring pony beside her; Bill seemed calm and she trusted the animal's intuition. They all sat to rest under an outcropping of the watchtower, the hobbits weary and glad to set down for the night. As the sun set, Strider pulled an object wrapped in cloth from his back and placed it on the ground, revealing the object to be four short swords.

"These are for you," Strider said, handing one sword to each hobbit, "Keep them close. I'm going to have a look around." Strider stood to leave.

"An' ya ain't got none for Sierra?" Pippin asked. With that, Sierra withdrew her knives and checked the blades on a bit of skin from the deer from last night; the pelt split nicely under the sharp edges.

"By the looks of it, she's already set." Strider commented, "Stay here." With that, he was gone. Several hours had passed and three of the hobbits volunteered to watch while Sierra and Frodo rested. Sierra was startled out of a somewhat pleasant sleep by Frodo's sudden cry of alarm.

"What are you doing?!" She looked around and panicked when she saw the fire at the center of the circle of three hobbits. Frodo quickly started to stamp out the fire. "Put it out you fools! Put it out!" Sierra picked up a large piece of the deerskin, shooed Frodo away, and quickly smothered the small flames under it. Sam, Merry, and Pippin protested, but Frodo was quick to hush them. There was a moment of silence where they all waited for something to happen; it was shattered by a familiar and terrible screech.

The Nazgûl had found them.

Going to the edge of their covered perch, all five watched as five black figures waded through the fog clinging to the ground below. Frodo drew his sword, prompting the others to do the same, and everyone hurried into the tower. The four hobbits and human woman stood ready, the hobbits with their short swords and Sierra with her knives. Each was on high alert and looked around wildly for the Nazgûl to appear. Frodo spotted the first one as it drew a terrible long sword from its scabbard. It was soon joined by the four others and each of the hobbits seemed to terrified to move. Even Sierra's hands were slick with sweat in their presence. Sam was the first to overcome his fear.

"Back, you devils!" he shouted as he charged one of the shadowy shapes, his sword clashing loudly against the ringwraith's. A moment later, they watched Sam get thrown back into a wall of the tower. Merry and Pippin were thrown aside as well and when Sierra made a move to defend Frodo, she was also hurled, this time into a statue, and the breath was instantly knocked out of her as pain blossomed in her back and spots danced in her vision. She was down and the five Nazgûl moved in on Frodo as they cast aside Merry and Pippin. She watched dizzily as Frodo magically disappeared. One ringwraith seemed to see him and reached towards where Frodo had been a moment ago. An instant later, the wraith recoiled and stabbed the seemingly empty air, bringing Frodo's pained scream into the air.

"Frodo!" She cried, clumsily scrambling to her feet. Suddenly a figure descended from above and surprised the Nazgûl: it was Strider. Wielding a lit torch like a weapon, he swung at the wraiths and they recoiled against his fierce attacks. Suddenly Frodo reappeared, screaming in pain, and Sam ran to him. Turning, Sierra hurried to aid Strider in beating back the ringwraiths with her knives. One of them had caught on fire in Strider's desperate attack and screamed in agony. Another had drifted too close and had also caught the flame. Soon, four of the Nazgûl fled the battle, screaming in fury and in pain, but one remained, determined to kill Strider and take back the Ring. With true aim, Strider pitched the torch at the final wraith and it screeched loudly as it fled the battle with its companions, a flag of flame flying on its shoulders.

Frodo's pained cries caught Sierra and Strider's attention.

"Strider!" Sam called as the man hurried to Frodo's side, "Help him Strider." The other hobbits and Sierra hovered near them all, wanting desperately to help their friend but no knowing how.

"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." Strider said, studying the quickly disintegrating blade the Nazgûl wielded, "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs elvish medicine." He murmured, helping Frodo up from the ground and carrying him in his arms. They all moved as fast as they could through the dark forest, Strider's torch leading them as he carefully carried Frodo's frail form. "Hurry!" He commanded, the screams of the ringwraiths seemingly all around them.

"We're six days from Rivendell!" Sam shouted as they struggled through the thick black brush, "He'll never make it!"

"He's a tough hobbit, Sam." Sierra reassured the portly halfling as she winced and touched her sore and certainly bruising back, "One way or another, he'll make it." Strider murmured comforting words to the quickly deteriorating Frodo. Sierra briefly wondered if he truly would survive, and if her words weren't more for herself than for Sam. Pitifully, Frodo pleadingly cried out for Gandalf and everyone winced and worried now for not only the Baggins but also their missing wizard. This adventure had quickly become a nightmare for everyone involved.

* * *

**Tune in for another chapter next week.**

**Do feel free to leave comments. I welcome constructive criticism.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The troupe of six had traveled as far and as fast as they could go, but Rivendell seemed to still be just as close as when they were in Bree. Feet were blistering and wounds were reopening or bruising and it slowed progress immensely. The worst was that Frodo was quickly deteriorating: he had broken out in sweats, his mucus and saliva seemed discolored, and his normally pallid gray-blue eyes were now a rich sky blue and they seemed to glance around blindly. His groans and cries of agony have degraded to small, pitiful whines. Sam attempted to comfort Frodo, speaking of the three massive stone trolls that surrounded them, the trolls from Bilbo's story of his journey to the Lonely Mountain. Merry, Pippin, Sierra, and Strider all kept watch as everyone in the party caught their breath. Somehow in the fight and the run, Strider's pony Bill had reappeared, huffing and puffing as a scared, tired pony would. Sierra praised Bill infinitely and searched the bags he still carried for anything that might help them: she found bandages, some ointments, and a few herbal pastes. Strider dismissed all of it, calling it useless to Frodo's tenuous state.

"He's goin' cold." Sam reported, his voice echoing his fear.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked as he looked at Frodo.

"He is passing into the Shadow World." Strider answered, "He will soon become a wraith like them." Frodo gasped and wheezed painfully as strange calls rang out from the forest.

"They're close." Merry half whispered.

"Those weren't the Nazgûl…" Sierra said cautiously. The standing hobbits all shuddered and clustered closer together.

"Sam," Strider murmured, catching Sam's attention, "Do you know the Athelas plant?"

"Athelas?" the hobbit wondered.

"Kingsford." Strider clarified.

"Kingsford? Ah, that's a weed." Sierra then remembered another book, a book on herbal medicine. She regretted not having had the chance to collect it from Bag End.

"It may help to slow the poison." He handed a torch to Sam, "Hurry."

"I'll go too." Sierra volunteered. She knew what Kingsford looked like and another pair of eyes was always handy. Together, she, Sam, and Strider scoured the area for Kingsford. She heard Strider pull out a blade and then a woman spoke.

"What's this?" the woman asked, "A ranger caught off his guard?" Sierra whirled and pulled out her knife in time to see the female holding a long, graceful blade to Strider's neck. She was torn between charging the stranger and not wanting Strider's throat to be cut. In the end, the female stranger was a friend of Strider's, an elf Sierra later learned was named Arwen. Together, the two humans, the elf, and the hobbit quickly returned to their ailing friend. Strider crammed the Kingsford into his mouth, flowers and all, and chewed the herb to a paste as quick as he could.

"He is fading." Arwen whispered ominously as she revealed the blackened wound. Strider spat out the pasts and placed it inside Frodo's wound, causing the poor hobbit to arch and gasp in pain. "He is not going to last. We must get him to my father." She helped take up Frodo into Strider's arms and spoke to him, "I have been looking for you for two days."

"Where are you taking him?" Merry asked.

"There are five wraiths behind you," it was as if the others weren't even there, "Where the other four are, I do not know." Strider placed Frodo carefully in the saddle of Arwen's white, faintly dappled horse. Then Strider and Arwen spoke in Elvish, seemingly arguing.

"What are they saying?" Pippin asked. Sierra could not tell them, but she recognized their mention of Frodo's name; her best guess was that it was about who would ride the beast. Soon, Arwen mounted her horse and gently cradled Frodo's frail body to hers.

"Arwen," Strider said softly, "ride hard. Don't look back." Indeed, the hobbits and Sierra shared his sentiments, wishing a swift ride to the she-elf and their dear friend. But Sam was worried.

"What are you doin'?!" He shouted, "Those wraiths are still out there!" Strider remained silent as he looked after where Arwen had ridden.

"Arwen rides faster than any ringwraith." He assured them, "Frodo is in the hands of the elves now." It seemed like that should have been a comforting statement, but they still worried deeply. All of them. After standing around for too long, Sierra started out in the direction Arwen went, the pony moving to follow her.

"Wait! Sierra, where are you going?" Pippin asked from the back of the group.

"To Rivendell." She said before forging ahead again. It wasn't long before Strider again took the lead and the group of five and one equine moved as fast and as far as they could, even going so far as to forgo sleep and even a sit-down breakfast to save time. They needed to know Frodo survived, that he was alive and well, that their journey would not result in his death before their objective was realized.

* * *

It had been several days of hard travel, but the party had come across elven scouts that guided them through the woods and hills until they finally reached Rivendell. All were greatly relieved when they found Frodo had survived his endeavor and was in the process of recovering, courtesy of elven magic. The party was given places to rest, wash, eat, and recover from their exhausting journey. Sierra was elated to have a real bath with scented soaps for the first time since she left Hobbiton to sell those furs. She and her companions were ripe with sweat, grime, and sores from travelling. They had spent three days in the security of Rivendell when Gandalf finally appeared, much to the relief of all who knew him. It was another four days before Frodo finally woke up.

In that period, Sierra had explored much of the House of Elrond and met many of the elves that guarded and worked in the haven-like valley. Indeed, the elves and the elven home were just as described in the books, beautiful beyond compare and then some. But the most marvelous discovery for Sierra was finding Bilbo Baggins seated on a bench in the sunshine, a pen in his hand and a mostly blank book in his lap. She was beyond glad to see her dear friend, the hobbit who helped her survive and get this far. He'd known a few things of what magic could do, understood her strange and sudden transport to the world of Middle-Earth, and helped her become better acclimated to her new home.

But in Rivendell, things were changing and plans were being made. Elves, men, and dwarves were arriving. And Sierra, dressed in a simple coppery elf dress and with her now long hair pulled back low and held by a silvery band, watched them all. First came a man, a human man, with fair shoulder-length hair and a shield on his back in the company of some older riders; he was a warrior and he had with him a fine brown steed. Next to arrive was a troupe of elves astride pale horses with sizable bows and full quivers on their backs; archers, probably some of the most skilled in all of Middle-Earth if rumors were to be believed. Lastly came the dwarves, all stoutly-built with thick beards; the one with the red beard seemed most boisterous and loud.

Sierra knew a council was forming. Logic dictated it was for the fate of the Ring and, consequently, for all of the people of Middle-Earth.

* * *

It was after dinner one evening that Sierra sat at the edge of a balcony, gazing out over the greenery and waterfalls lit by the pale moon rising in the sky and the golden glow of lanterns. She heard soft footsteps nearby and turned to face the person, or elf as it turned out, who had arrived. Like all elves, he was very fine-featured, but differently than the elves of Rivendell: his sharp brow, squared jaw, and his long fair hair, looking almost white in the moonlight, contrasted with the softer features and typically darker hair of the elves of Rivendell. The elf was dressed in a green tunic and brown trousers with leather bracers, belt, and boots. He regarded Sierra as he passed and she bowed her head in a polite greeting before returning to look over the valley.

"We do not often see humans in the home of the elves." The elf said as he slowed his pace, just loud enough to be heard from his position.

"Indeed. Likewise, I believe it is not often elves are seen in the home of man, dwarf, or hobbit." Sierra answered, glancing to the side as the elf approached the balcony. He nodded and laughed lightly in agreement.

"Have you traveled far?" the elf asked.

"I have." Sierra recalled, suppressing an exhausted sigh, "All the way from Hobbiton, even."

"Hobbiton? I did not know humans dwelled among hobbits." Apparently, Sierra's living situation in a hobbit hole was unusual.

"I have a friend, Bilbo Baggins." Sierra explained, "He let me live with him when I lost my own home about four or five months ago. And now I'm here with Bilbo's nephew and his three friends, though it was by no means an easy trek." She left the story of the adventure at that, both trying to keep from recalling the more terrifying of events and the keep from boring the regal-looking elf. She momentarily remembered Bilbo's mention of the elf king of Mirkwood.

"Ah!" he said, as if remembering something, "So you must be this 'woman ranger' I have heard murmurs of." Sierra had no comment to that, but looked directly at the elf beside her with surprise.

"I had no idea I was the subject of gossip." Sierra said honestly turning to look at the valley again, "Though…woman ranger? I'm not sure if I qualify to be categorized as a _ranger_."

"You sell yourself short." He commented looking at her earnestly, "From what I've heard, you tricked the Nazgûl in Bree, fought them off of your hobbit companion, and made it to Rivendell with nary a scratch." He was reporting exactly what the other elves were murmuring around the dining table and in the halls. Yet Sierra hid a flattered blush and continued to stare over the valley.

"True, I didn't get _a_ scratch," Sierra answered with a chuckle, "I received many. As well as a few bruises, blisters, and sores from the endeavor." The elf nodded with what appeared to be amusement. Suddenly a voice called off behind Sierra and the elf, causing them both to turn their heads.

"Sierra!" it was Pippin, "Come on now, we need ya in the dinin' hall! Merry's challenged Sam to a drinkin' contest!" Relieved to have a reason to escape the conversation with the admittedly handsome elf, Sierra quickly scooted off her perch and started to walk over to Pippin.

"Forgive me miss," She paused to regard the elf, "but I don't believe I ever got your name."

"Brander." She answered, becoming a little flustered, "Sierra Brander. And yours?"

"You will learn my name in time. Farewell for now, miss Brander." The elf said with a gentle bow of his head. When he turned away to look at the valley, Sierra took it as a dismissal and spun, continuing her way to Pippin and the others.

* * *

It was the next day when Sierra was asked by Gandalf to change into her travelling gear and join him later that morning. She did as asked, returning to her room and putting on the gear the elves had gifted her: a corset-like undergarment to brace her chest, a pale cream sleeved shirt, a dark blue cloth vest tunic, a leather full-torso vest for protection, a leather belt with knife holsters, fitted breeches, leather bracers, and tall leather boots. The last piece was a cloak, her original cloak, which had been carefully laundered in her time in Rivendell. After tying back her hair, Sierra looked for Gandalf in his frequent haunts around Rivendell, eventually finding him, Bilbo, and Frodo seated together.

"Aha!" proclaimed Bilbo when he spotted Sierra, "There's a right, proper adventurer!"

"Thank you, Bilbo." Sierra said with a laugh and a small blush, "The elves seem to know just what an adventurer needs."

"Indeed, you both look quite ready." Gandalf said, regarding Frodo in his new travelling outfit as well as Sierra, "Do excuse us, Bilbo my friend. Elrond has requested our presence." Sierra hadn't seen much of Elrond since she'd arrived, more often he was speaking to Gandalf as she passed them or back when he was checking to see Frodo while the hobbit was recovering. She'd only had a handful of times where she had a conversation with him. Dutifully, Frodo and Sierra followed the wizard, saying goodbye to Bilbo. Sierra soon saw the men she'd seen enter Rivendell a short time ago, all of them arranged in a semicircle facing a pair of chairs occupied by Elrond and Arwen. Sierra felt the eyes of the political figureheads as she entered; women must not be common attending these kinds of councils, aside from important women like Arwen.

"A woman?" scoffed one of the dwarves, a balding man with a full, dark beard.

"A ranger, from what I hear." Commented a familiar voice. Sierra glanced and recognized him as the elf she had met the night before; he was wearing a satiny beige cloak over his apparel.

"And a good one at that." Gandalf added with a chuckle as he, Frodo, and Sierra took the three remaining open seats at the far end of the council with Sierra on the very end and Frodo between her and the wizard.

"I wouldn't go that far. I can't even fire an arrow…" Sierra murmured softly, a faint nervous blush on her face. Soft whispers were passed between the council members and Sierra felt her nervousness mount tenfold. Being the source of talk was one of her few social fears. Frodo gave her a reassuring pat on the arm and she nodded a thanks. Gracefully, Elrond stood and all other conversation ceased. After a moment's pause, he began.

"Strangers from distant lands. Friends of old." He spoke firmly yet elegantly, as is right for a lord elf, "You've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands on the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall." Nervous glances danced across the council; even Strider seemed unnerved. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." Elrond indicated the stone pedestal at the center of the council assemblage and Frodo gingerly shifted out of his seat, his right hand clenched tight around the cursed object. Delicately, he placed the ring in the dead center of the pedestal and moved back to his seat. He seemed more than grateful to not have the Ring on his person any more.

Whispers flew in the council as the golden temptation sat there before them all. Sierra gulped nervously as she felt its oppressing power, finding herself confused when she heard whispers seemingly coming from the ring itself. The human man, the one who'd bore a shield on his back, was the first to stand.

"A dream," he started, "I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the west a pale light lingered." Sierra kept her eye on the man as he spoke, his careful steps taking him closer to the Ring. "A voice was crying, 'Your doom is near at hand…Isildur's bane is found…'" Sierra tensed and glanced to Elrond, Strider and Gandalf. Something was wrong. "…Isildur's bane…" Before any could stop him, he began to reach for the Ring. Elrond stood first and called the man's name, Boromir, but it was soon drowned out by Gandalf's spellcasting and a booming, incoherent voice rang out. Boromir staggered back under the force of the voice and the people in attendance jumped and shouted in surprise or winced and held their heads in pain. Sierra placed a hand over her sternum and had to force herself to take calming breaths, both to feed air into her lungs and to calm her rapidly beating heart. Gandalf added magnitude to his voice as he stood before it quickly died down and it was peaceful under the trees once more.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris." Elrond stated firmly; Imladris was the old word for Rivendell and a far more graceful word than Sierra could have ever given.

"Do not ask your pardon, master Elrond." Gandalf said as he suddenly seemed weary, his staff taking the roll of a cane to support him, "For the black speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west." So that was the language spoken in Mordor? It was a brutal, terrifying tongue that left everyone rattled. "The Ring is altogether evil." He seemed to be scolding Boromir in particular as he turned to return to his seat.

"Ah, it is a gift!" Boromir insisted, Gandalf turned to face him again, "A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this ring?" Sierra knew right then that he had completely fallen to the lure of the cursed piece. "Long has my father, the steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe." Strider kept a calm eye on the other man but shifted in his seat, Boromir was becoming wildly unnerving with his confident grin. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him."

"You cannot wield it." Strider finally chimed in, "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

"And what would a _ranger_ know of this matter?" Boromir challenged, turning to face him.

"This is no mere ranger." the familiar elf said, rising from his seat, "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." Sierra's eyes widened as she glanced at her recently acquired friend. She had heard stories of Aragorn, the Rogue Prince some called him, and that he disappeared years ago. Apparently, he had merely hidden himself as a ranger named Strider. Frodo and Boromir both looked incredulously at the ranger and he sat comfortably in his chair, a sudden importance graced his features.

"Aragorn…" Boromir half-whispered, "_This_ is Isildur's heir?" He seemed in denial of this claim.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." The elf added. So it was indeed true. Sierra felt some guilt towards doubting Aragorn when he was still known as Strider. Aragorn spoke gently yet firmly to the elf, in elvish Sierra guessed, and the elf apparently obliged and returned to his seat.

"Gondor has no king." Boromir all but spat as he looked at the elf then turned back towards Aragorn, "Gondor needs no king." Then he took his seat and said no more on the matter. Sierra decided immediately that she had to keep an eye on Boromir when she was near him.

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf chimed in, "we cannot use it." Sierra was certain Frodo knew better than all of them how the ring behaved and the look on his face assured her that it was pointless to try and master the Ring of Sauron.

"You have only one choice," Elrond spoke, standing once again, "The ring must be destroyed." Those assembled either nodded, murmured assent, or otherwise conveyed agreement. No good could ever come of the evil trinket.

"Then what are we waiting for?" The dwarf with the red beard stated as he stood, grabbed his axe, and attacked the Ring dead-on. Sierra flinched and covered her face as the sturdy metal axe was reduced to little more than rubble and the dwarf was thrown backward onto the ground. Fine axes, fine _Dwarven_ axes did not break easily, if at all, and never shattered. Sierra then noticed Frodo wincing and hissing lightly as if in pain.

"Are you alright?" Sierra whispered to the hobbit. He briefly shook his head 'no' but didn't tell her what exactly hurt. His hand flew to his head and he started to pant. Gandalf noticed this too and cast a worried glance to the halfling. A dark language seemed to ring out of the trinket.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess." Elrond spoke ominously, "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Sierra was suddenly having second thoughts about this mission. She'd read many maps in Bag End and there was only one Mount Doom: a volcano, smack in the heart of Mordor itself. "One of _you_ must do this." The elf lord finished. The council was silent and composed once again.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor." Boromir said softly, "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great _eye_," he made a firm whisper of the word, "is ever watchful. 'Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this." He shook his head for emphasis, "It is folly." Again the elf stood to confront Boromir.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" he chastised, causing Boromir to rightly look away, "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"An' I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" the red-bearded dwarf, Gimli, accused.

"And if we fail, what then?" Boromir stood, asking a sensible question for once. Sierra did worry what would happen if the adventure indeed ended in a failed objective? "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be _dead_ before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" The dwarf spat as he stood, inspiring a shouting match between everyone present. It was a loud, wild chaos and not even Elrond or Gandalf could calm them all back to sense. Each race threw rude accusations and curses about the others, the shouting growing louder and louder as they all tried to be heard above the others. Eventually, Sierra could bear this arguing no more and exploded.

"ENOUGH!" Sierra found herself screaming above them all, sending her chair clattering and Frodo to look at her in surprise. This was the first time she'd ever found herself acting to be heard over any cacophony and the others quieted to look at her end of the semicircle, some whispering continued arguments among themselves. "You are all _fools_! Can't you see? The Ring's magic and even Sauron himself is driving a wedge between all of us! Cursing each other and plotting for your own gain is no solution!" After a brief pause and more soft whispers, Frodo stood and spoke softly.

"I will take it." The others seemed confused, "I will take the Ring to Mordor." Sierra was stunned. Frodo was a braver hobbit than she had thought. Willing to take up the Ring again, even after the difficulties it gave the group before they even reached Rivendell. He continued, "Though…I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf confirmed, patting the hobbit's shoulder and moving to stand at his back, "as long as it is yours to bear."

"Then I will join you, too." Sierra confirmed, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze, "After all, I've followed you this far." Sierra still hated the journey and its prospects, but if Frodo was willing to look death in the face for the better of others, then she would too.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." Aragorn stated, standing strong and approaching Frodo to kneel before him and clasp the hobbit's hand. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow." The familiar elf stated with a smile.

"And my axe." Confirmed Gimli, determined to not be outdone by his elvish counterpart. Slowly, Boromir approached the now assembled group of six.

"You carry the fates of us all, little one." He said, "If this is indeed the will of the Council…then Gondor will see it done." Suddenly a shout rang out from the bushes behind the group and Sam appeared from the bushes. The little spy must have heard just about everything. He then elbowed his way in between Sierra and Aragorn to stand at Frodo's right.

"Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me." Sam firmly commanded.

"No indeed." Elrond commented, quite surprised, and Sierra believed amused, at Sam's antics, "It is hardly possible to separate you even when _he_ is summoned to a secret council and you are _not_." As if by magic, Merry and Pippin also appeared.

"Oi! We're coming too!" Merry shouted, Pippin hot on his heels. Sierra put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh at Elrond's reaction to these ridiculous hobbits. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us."

"Anyway," Pippin joined, "you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing." It seemed decided then, that the hobbits were sticking together.

"Well, that rules you out, Pip." Merry muttered to his friend.

"Ten companions." Elrond remarked, "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great." Pippin said cheerily, "Where are we going?" Indeed, this would be a _long_ journey.

* * *

**This was a long one. Fair warning, future chapters will be leaning more towards the 4,000 and 3,000 word mark.**

**-.-.-. News update .-.-.-**

**Unfortunately, my computer had a disastrous crash Tuesday, March 11, the night before my usual story update. What is fortunate is that I managed to save this chapter on FF before the crash and I hope to recover the remaining pre-written chapters from Carbonite in short order. If there is a delay on the chapter posting next week, I will let you know.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The Fellowship of ten had two days to make their final preparations for the trek to Mordor; dried, jarred, and otherwise preserved foods were stored, weapons were sharpened and tested, spare clothes were packed, and everyone had the chance to get to learn about each other. Sierra first learned the name of the elf she'd befriended: Legolas, a name meaning "Greenleaf" in Elvish, and he was indeed of a princely manner, the son of King Thranduil of the forest of Mirkwood. She'd gotten to know Gimli the dwarf too, he was hot-headed and gruff, but was somewhat glad to have Frodo, the other hobbits, and Sierra traveling along; it made him feel taller being nearer Sierra's height than the hobbits'. Sierra even confronted Aragorn about his alias and why he hid who he was; she never got a straight answer, but affirmed he was still someone she needed to and could trust. Boromir, however, was a different story entirely; he seemed to have a quiet disdain for everyone on the mission, especially Sierra, deeming her 'useful to cook and clean' and being a 'hindrance' to their quest because she was female. Sierra would have to try really hard to find a reason to trust the man already swayed by the Ring and bearing very sexist values.

At pre-dawn on the third day, they all began to assemble at a gate of Rivendell with Bill, the faithful stallion and Sierra's favorite pony of any she'd ever met. The hobbits, Sierra, and Gandalf had already bid their farewells to Bilbo Baggins and, if you glanced up and to the right, the party would have seen the old hobbit watching over them from a balcony high above. Many of the elves had gathered at this gate with Elrond standing before them all, preparing to send them off.

"The ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom." He stated, "On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will." Sierra determined he'd meant there was honor in their endeavor and no shame in retreat. She was determined, though, to see this to its end. "Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you."

"The Fellowship awaits the ring-bearer." Gandalf called softly, summoning Frodo. The dark-haired hobbit turned towards the Fellowship and led the way out of the gate, a determined and worried expression on his face.

"Mordor, Gandalf," Frodo whispered, quiet enough for most to miss, "is it left or right?"

"Left." Gandalf assured, and the small hobbit led the way. Gandalf took second, Gimli third, then Boromir, Pippin, Merry, Sierra, Legolas, and Sam who guided Bill; the small horse bore much of their gear and was intended to for as far as he would go. Aragorn was last and paused to cast a sad glance back at the assembled elves, Arwen in particular, before following the other nine. In her time in Rivendell, Sierra learned of the devotion Arwen and Aragorn shared; it seemed a tragically romantic story out of a book to her.

* * *

The party ventured far in their first few days, going from the forests of Rivendell to the rocky dry hills peppered with ruined forts and watchtowers, many hundreds or even thousands of years old. The arrangement of people in the train they travelled in changed often, though Aragorn kept to the rear and Frodo stood with Gandalf at the head. Their only stops so far had been for meals and sleep, but they slept fairly well and ate decently, what with the hobbits and dwarf sharing a love of good, belly-filling food and sleep. When they stopped, Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas had taken to teaching the hobbits and Sierra how to better attack and defend with their blades and how to use a bow. It was during one stop along the Misty Mountains where Boromir was teaching Pippin and Merry some sparring while Aragorn watched and Frodo ate with Sam. Gandalf watched over them towards the west while Legolas watched the north, Gimli the south, and Sierra the east, though really her view was just of the western side of the Misty Mountains, from a stone perch a several feet above them.

"If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they're _not_," Gimli remarked from his spot, "I'd say we were taking the _long_ way 'round." He turned to face the wizard, "Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin Balin'll give us a royal welcome." Sierra then turned on her perch to look at Gimli. She'd remembered Bilbo's dragon story and particularly the names of the many dwarves he'd traveled with.

"What is he like Gimli?" Sierra asked, "Him and Gloin and all the others. Bilbo's only told me of his adventure and not too much about the dwarves in particular."

"Oh, Balin is right jolly!" Gimli answered cheerily, looking up at the lone female of the group, "Thin as a rail as dwarves go, but he's got a beard as thick an' wild as Gandalf's. Heh, an' twice as white! Ain't no dwarf ruled Moria half as kind and firm as he! Made it a right palace he did." Indeed, he seemed a charmer, "Now, as for my father Gloin-"

"Forgive the interruption, but no, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." Gandalf interrupted, drawing the dwarf's, elf's, and woman's attentions. There must have been something serious about the mines to make Gandalf think twice about entering. After his remark, Legolas changed his perch to face the south and took hold of his bow. Gandalf, Sierra, and Gimli watched the elf and waited to see if he'd sensed anything off while the two men and two troublemaking hobbits were blissfully unaware. Sierra then looked to the south and squinted her eyes, shielding them from the sunlight with her right hand.

"There's a dark shape out there." she said, loud enough to be heard by the other watchmen and Sam.

"What is that?" the large hobbit asked, seeing the same shape.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud." Gimli commented.

"It's moving fast," Boromir added, "and against the wind."

"It looks like a flock of birds to me." Sierra clarified.

"Crebain! From Dunland!" Legolas warned.

"Hide!" Aragorn commanded. She didn't know what crebain were, but judging by how everyone seemed frantic to hide, she wasn't about to sit around and find out. Sierra quickly scrambled from her perch and hurried into a thick shrub where she found Legolas already hidden, his bow in hand and eyes on the sky. Sierra sat crouched beside him, her knives drawn and adrenaline pulsing as she watched the flock of black birds. They screeched and cawed loud above the hidden party before wheeling around and flying off again. When they had gone, the party came out of hiding.

"Spies of Saruman." Gandalf surmised. Sierra scowled. Not long into their stay in Rivendell, Gandalf confided why he had been delayed: his mentor Saruman, a white wizard, had allowed his mind to be poisoned by Sauron's evil and now played a spy and general in his dark master's bidding. "The passage south is being watched." Everyone gathered around their guide. "We must take the pass of Caradhras."

* * *

Sierra hated snow. Not flurries or few-inch-deep drifts, those were fun, but waist-deep and even knee-deep drifts infuriated her. With her small feet, she had to walk especially careful over the snow and relied on her companions when she found herself stuck. She wondered how the horse didn't fall stomach-deep into these drifts. The hobbits, on the other hand, had no trouble at all, their proportionally large feet acting as snowshoes. Tired from the already long trek, Frodo slipped and tumbled a short ways down the mountain where Aragorn caught and righted him. The party paused to wait for the ring-bearer to get back in the thick of the group and noticed he was frantically patting his chest.

'_The Ring!_' Sierra thought, glancing around for it. Another had found the trinket in the snow, Boromir. Everyone watched cautiously as the man studied the Ring at the center of a silver chain, waiting to see what he decided to do.

"Boromir." Aragorn called. The man of Gondor did not respond immediately.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt of so small a thing…" Boromir half-murmured, his eyes intent on the golden ring, "Such a little thing…" His hand rose toward it.

"Boromir!" Aragorn called again. Boromir seemed to snap out of his reverie, "Give the Ring to Frodo." He seemed torn a moment, but managed to will himself to step forward and hold out the ring to the hobbit.

"As you wish," The troupe relaxed when they saw the fair-haired man relinquish the Ring to its bearer, "I care not." Frodo held the Ring close, worried of Boromir. The man ruffled his hair playfully before turning and marching back to the group. With cautious glances all round, the Fellowship continued on their way through the snowy mountain pass. Hours passed and a blizzard had set in over the travelers as they traversed a winding, precarious path along the mountainside. Gandalf led the way, carving out a path for the others with his staff. Sierra found herself blinded by the snow and pain incited by the cold and so held on to the cloak, shirt, or belt of whomever stood in front of her, at this moment it was Gimli and behind her the trusted bag-pony, Bill's reins held tight in her hand. The hobbits' feet were spared walking on the cold snow and were carried by Boromir and Aragorn, using their cloaks to shield them further.

"I HATE BLIZZARDS!" Sierra called over the winds. The hobbits all shouted in agreement, even quiet Frodo joined in. She didn't understand how Legolas could withstand the cold in his light traveling gear, and especially wondered how he was able to stand atop the delicate snowdrifts. '_Elven magic._' She surmised, bracing herself against another fierce wind. Suddenly the elf stepped ahead and looked around, something was coming.

"There is a fell voice on the air." The elf said loudly.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf shouted, just as boulders splintered from above the group. They braced against the wall of the mountain and the boulders luckily passed them all safely.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn shouted, "Gandalf! We must turn back!" Sierra agreed. Being on a mountain was scary enough, a blizzard mountain even worse, but a blizzard mountain that was being collapsed by an evil wizard far away? They had to go back.

"No!" Gandalf shouted. Sierra silently cursed the old man's stubbornness. He got above the drift with Legolas and shouted a counterspell into the wind. But Saruman was too strong and the counterspell too late. The storm grew more vicious around them and suddenly lightning reached from the thick coulds above and struck a shelf of snow high above the party. Everyone whipped their head up and braced themselves as the snow came down. Sierra lost a grip on Gimli when the horse frightened and then lost the reins immediately after. Sierra threw her arms above and forward of her face and braced.

It was suddenly silent in her snowy prison, the only noise the buffeting wind on the outside and the heavily muffled sounds of people struggling. Hastily and carefully, Sierra cleared the snow around her head and chest, giving herself room to breathe before scratching at and reaching out of the snow above her. Suddenly a gloved hand grabbed hers and her second hand flew up to grip the man's forearm. The hand belonged to Legolas, the first who freed himself from the snow, and he pulled hard to free his female companion. When her head was free, Legolas moved to help another and she struggled and squirmed out of the snow and then scrambled to free Bill's head. Thankfully, the horse's frantic and strong scrambling had loosened the snow and Sierra released its head, immediately petting the long face and muttering words of praise and comfort to the animal.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir shouted, "Make for the gap of Rohan! Or take the west road to my city!"

"The gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn warned.

"Saruman will kill us all if we don't do _something_!" Sierra added, digging Bill free with Gimli's help.

"We cannot pass over the mountain," Gimli said, "let us go under it! Let us go through the mines of Moria!" Gandalf paused, thinking hard about what he needed to do. For the Ring. For the Fellowship.

"Let the ring-bearer decide." The wizard replied. Sierra trusted Frodo to take whatever route he felt best, as did the others. So they waited for his answer.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir called, another harsh wind beating at the weary group, "This will be the death of the hobbits!" Indeed, Sierra was freezing but imagined the hobbits were running the risk of frostbite and hypothermia with their bared feet and small bodies. The wizard prompted Frodo for his answer.

"We will go through the mines." Frodo finally answered. With that decided, Legolas proceeded to the back, now the front, of the train and Gandalf did too, again taking the time to plow open a path for the Fellowship. Sierra took hold of the pony's reins again and pulled the still frightened beast along behind Gandalf while the others followed. Sierra was more than elated to get off the mountain.

* * *

It was dark, both from cloud cover and by the setting of the sun, when they had gotten off the pass and traversed a rocky pathway; what appeared to be a large, broken, stone bridge loomed high above them. Gandalf and Frodo shared a private conversation and the others caught up around them. When Gimli crested the small ridge they travelled along, he remarked with awe, "the walls of Moria." Though, to any normal man and Sierra, it was merely an almost vertical rock face. As they traveled along to where Gandalf and Gimli estimated the door to be, Sierra turned and spoke to the dwarf.

"How can you be sure this is Moria? I mean no offense, but it just looks like a rock wall to me." She asked the dwarf, genuinely curious.

"Been here many times, lass, and I know the door's along this wall somewhere. Dwarf walls are invisible when closed." He commented, tapping the stone with his axe.

"Yes Gimli," Gandalf added, "Even their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten." It made perfect sense to Sierra. Often when she needed a password to access a website back home, if it wasn't one she commonly used or had written down somewhere she would not remember it and would be denied access.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas asked flatly, causing Gimli to grumble. Sierra scrunched up her face and jabbed an elbow into the elf's side, the age old way to tell people to shut their mouths when they say something stupid. Legolas looked questioningly down at her angered face and rubbed his now sore side tenderly, deciding against continuing to antagonize the dwarf. Frodo stumbled and his foot slid into the still water on the right of their path. He was fine, but the water had startled him and the environment had him wary.

Gandalf moved to one particular section of wall and felt around, finding the indentations and murmuring to himself, he turned around and looked up at the sky. Sierra could only catch the last of his mumblings: "…it mirrors only starlight and moonlight…" As if by his bidding, the clouds parted and the full moon shown through to light the wall; they were all gladdened by the appearance of the white sphere, both for its added light and its effect on the doorway.

"Wow." Sierra murmured as the indents lit up to reveal an intricately patterned door.

"It reads: 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak friend and enter.'" Gandalf translated.

"What d'you s'pose that means?" asked Pippin.

"Oh, it's quite simple," Gandalf replied, "if you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." The wizard placed his staff at the star design in the middle of the door and spoke an elaborate password. Everyone waited excitedly…and waited…and waited. The door did nothing. Gandalf stepped back and tried another detailed password. Still, nothing.

"Nothin's happenin'." Pippin pointed out. Gandalf proceeded to try to push at the door to open it, but it held firm and didn't budge.

"I once knew every spell in all the tomes of elves..." Gandalf murmured, quietly trailing off. Sierra wished she could help the old man, but the best she could do was stare at the elaborate Elvish writing atop the door. She entertained the idea of shouting 'Open Sesame!' and seeing if that would have worked, but put the thought out with a smothered snort of a chuckle.

"What are you going to do then?" Pippin asked.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took." Gandalf snapped in frustration, "And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words." He seemed back to the kindly old wizard he portrayed then, but Pippin, properly chastised, got the message and promptly shut his mouth for some time.

"We should take the time to rest and think of another path, just in case this one doesn't pan out." Everyone agreed while Gandalf continued attempting to open the wall. Gimli took to sharpening his axe blade while Boromir and Sam were brushing Bill down after the long day. Aragorn was off to the side, thinking as he usually did, Frodo sat on a boulder near the door and helped Gandalf brainstorm a password. Merry and Pippin had taken to sitting by the eerily still water and lastly, Legolas came to take a seat on a boulder beside Sierra on the opposite side of the door opening as the boulder Frodo sat on.

"Mines are no place for a pony." Boromir murmured, "Even one so brave as Bill." Sam murmured a goodbye to the pony as he removed the bridle and Boromir gave the pony a gentle push, "Go on, Bill. Go on. Don't worry Sam, he knows the way home." Sierra turned and looked after Bill as he walked off. She would miss him.

"What did you mean when you said 'pan out'?" the elf eventually asked her.

"Well, 'Pan out' as in the action of panning. Like panning for gold." She explained to the elf. Legolas stared back blankly. "Are you telling me you have no idea what _panning_ is? How old _are_ you, Legolas?" Sheepishly, Legolas cleared his throat and looked away. "Okay, I'll make it simple," he looked back at the human woman, "people would take shallow metal trays or bowls, they were called 'pans', and would go to mountain streams or rivers and sift through the wet silt along the edge until metals like gold or silver appeared in the pan. If the act was successful it had 'panned out'. It was a common way to find potential mining locations a long time ago back home and became a turn of phrase."

"Aye," Gimli confirmed from his place a few feet away, scraping a whetstone along his axe blade, making a smooth metallic scraping noise, "Dwarves of old would pan sometimes to check their mines for when to stay an' when to move on." He barked a laugh, "Though, dwarves would have to dig far longer than elves have been around to know when to give up."

"And where is home? Bag End in Hobbiton?" Legolas prompted. Sierra paused, thinking of how much she wanted to tell the elf.

"Well, my first home is what I'm talking about. I mean, Hobbiton _is_ home, but…I'm talking about my…my first home." Sierra clarified, "A long, _long_ ways away in a town called Carson City. I don't think hobbits or dwarves or even elves have ever been there or heard of it. I'm even named for the mountains in that area: the 'Sierra Nevadas'. Along time ago there was a mining boom there, especially in California." Legolas cast her a questioning look, "It's the name of a territory in my country. Anyway, California had become known for its gold veins and Nevada, another territory immediately next to California, had become known for its silver. Panning was just an old way of finding valuable deposits before people began to develop more refined techniques for finding them."

"Well, you are right. I have not heard of that place. Nor of 'panning' before today." Legolas admitted.

"Ha ha!" Gimli barked a laugh, "The wee lass knows more of Dwarven arts than the immortal elves! Take that, pointy-ears!" Legolas gave him a deadpan stare while Sierra tried to stifle a laugh. Quiet then assumed its place among the Fellowship, that is, it _was_ quiet until there was a loud 'plunk' of a rock being thrown into water. Merry and Pippin had taken to tossing rocks into the water to entertain themselves. Aragorn quickly stopped them and murmured an ominous warning.

"Do not disturb the water." A chill ran along Sierra's spine and the creepy atmosphere had become even more disturbing. Gandalf soon gave up on the door, deflated and murmuring that he had no idea how to open it. He tossed down his staff and took off his pointed hat; he looked more weary than Sierra had seen since the day of the council. Boromir came up beside Aragorn and stared out into the water, the ripples from Merry and Pippin's stones still reverberating. Frodo then stood up and looked thoughtfully at the door.

"It's a riddle…" he surmised, Sierra all but jumped when she saw something in the water move, "Speak friend and enter…what's the Elvish word for friend?" Sierra turned to look at the hobbit and wizard as another ripple appeared in the water. Something was in that water.

"Uh, Gandalf…" She started, Legolas and Gimli were standing now and staring warily at the once calm waters.

"Mellon." Gandalf answered Frodo, and suddenly the doors creaked open. So the door wasn't just saying the rules to the password, but it was a command. "Oho!" Gandalf exclaimed, happy that the door had opened at last. Everyone started to file in, but Legolas, the three humans, and Merry and Pippin kept glancing back at the water nervously. Sierra especially was happy to get away, she was growing a fearful distrust of this particular body of water.

* * *

**And that makes six chapters.**

**I'm wondering if I should break up the full story as was done originally: one story, then another, then another. Or maybe I should have it all consolidated into one huge story. I'll figure it out eventually.**

**.-.-. News Update .-.-.**

******I currently have my computer back and I will proceed with these chapters as scheduled. My apologies for the delayed update, my internet went out before I could upload the chapter.**

**If you ever EVER want to keep your data backed up without worry, I suggest you go with Carbonite. I did lose the changes I had made on the day of my computer crash, but this is a far better situation than if I had lost my writing entirely. Carbonite is my hero and I highly recommend trying it out if you want your information safe and secure.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

As the Fellowship moved into the now open wall and away from the disconcerting water, they noticed right away that just inside the door was solid black darkness, with the bright light of the moon outside being their only means of seeing. Sierra could see some lit up patches of what may have been rubble, she wasn't quite sure, but it was entirely possible: they were inside a mountain after all, and rubble could have come loose from the walls and ceiling.

"Soon, master elf," Gimli spoke, "You'll enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves. Roaring fires! Malt beer! Red meat off the bone!" Sierra quite liked the sound of that. Warm food, drink, maybe even a bath and cozy bed. "Oh! An' miss Brander, do watch that the bachelors don't try to trick you into marrying them! Ehe." That was something Sierra didn't quite like, but she believed herself to be cautious enough to avoid it. Gandalf paused as the party still stepped in and lit the end of his staff with a magic glow. "This, my friends, is the home of my cousin Balin, an' they call it a _mine_. A mine!" Gimli still seemed so elated as he barked out a laugh, but the others were suddenly cautious as they looked around at the places revealed under the magic light.

"This is no mine…"Boromir said warily, "It's a tomb." As she got closer, Sierra realized it wasn't rubble that she had seen in the shadows, they were armored _corpses_. The hobbits jumped back and Sierra covered her mouth to muffle any noise she made as she watched Gimli cry out in grief. These rotted skeletons were of dwarves. Gimli moaned in anguish and fell to his knees beside a body as Legolas pulled an arrow from a dried husk of a corpse, studying the strange head of the weapon.

"Goblins." He surmised. They had unique, cruelly built weaponry and tools and hated the dark just as much as they hated the other races of Middle-Earth. Sierra had read and heard that they were disgusting creatures with manners as foul as their breath and dreaded ever running into one. The woman went to Gimli's side as Legolas prepared his bow and Boromir and Aragorn withdrew their swords.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan." Boromir said, ushering everyone back outside, "We should never have come here."

"Gimli, come on. We can't stay here." Sierra had to use the strength of her whole body to conjure Gimli to his feet and pulled him away from the corpses as best she could. He still moaned half sobs and mourned their loss as the party retreated out the door and back to the eerie lake, one of them commanding the others to get out. Suddenly Sierra heard the hobbits all shouting Frodo's name.

"Strider!" Sam shouted, maintaining Aragorn's old label. The man whirled and ran to help. When Sierra had finally hauled the grief-stricken Gimli near the door, she saw a mass of tentacles flying from the eerie lake and latch onto Frodo, pulling him from his friends.

"Frodo!" Sierra shouted in a panic. She couldn't do anything from the shore and if she went in the water, she might find herself in Frodo's same predicament. An arrow whizzed through the air and struck true on one of the flailing limbs of the beast and Legolas prepared to loose another at the creature as the two men slashed at the writhing limbs. Braving her fears, Sierra pulled out her knives and slashed at the tentacles near the shore with Boromir and Aragorn, doing far less than their long swords, yet smarting the monster all the same. Slice after slice appeared to distract the beast as Frodo now dangled high above its gaping toothed maw. "Hold on Frodo!" Sierra cried, slashing at more tentacles and severing some. Eventually, Boromir cut through the one holding Frodo aloft and caught the terrified hobbit before turning back to the shore.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf commanded, the beast was infuriated now and its thrashing tentacles grabbed hold of whatever they could. Sierra turned to enter the bone-strewn cave again when her feet were pulled from under her and she screamed in terror as the beast hauled her aloft.

"Legolas!" Boromir shouted. Promptly, Legolas fired a volley of arrows into the beast and paticularly the spindly tentacle holding Sierra. The beast roared angrily as she fell from its grasp and landed in the water. Aragorn pulled the woman from the foaming black water and ran as fast and as far as he could into the opening. Sierra was glad he had a hold of her arm as she stumbled behind him, she'd been blinded by the prickly feeling of water in her eyes and didn't trust her unguided feet to carry her safely away from the monster. They had to move fast, the beast was bringing down the entrance in its rage and the crumbly passage eventually sealed itself behind the party, silencing and killing the beast. After the rockslide ceased and loose pebbles landed, the only noises were of everyone panting to catch their breath and the panicked half breaths half sobs from Sierra as she quickly rubbed the water from her eyes. She never_ ever_ wanted to go near an unfamiliar body of water again. Gandalf was the first to speak.

"We now have but one choice." he spoke as he lit the end of his staff again, "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard, there are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world…" Sierra was not liking any of that. Aragorn helped her to her feet and gently coaxed her to the front behind Gandalf with Legolas to her right and Gimli behind her, though she was slowed by heavy, water-laden clothes and chilled by the air around them. Behind Gimli were the hobbits and taking up the rear were the also sopping wet Boromir and Aragorn.

"Is everyone alright?" Legolas asked, while casting a worried glance at Sierra. She took deep breaths to steady herself and nodded, making a noise of confirmation as her clothes and hair dripped, and the hobbits all murmured verification that they were going to be alright as well. Sierra put on a steely face and calmed her breathing, determined to toughen herself up on this mission, as they all wandered deeper and deeper into the gloom of Moria's darkness.

"Quietly now," Gandalf half whispered, "it's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed." Sierra wondered how deep the mines went and what had taken up residence since the death of the dwarves at the door. She shivered, though not from the chill of air on her wet garb.

* * *

They made progress in a single file line, Gandalf leading and lighting the way while Boromir and Aragorn traded a torch between them at the back. The travelers' eyes all dilated as far as they would go, trying to see any kind of light in the shadowy underbelly of the mountain. The rare noises they did make were the soft clanks of metal on metal or stone and the occasional skid on a slippery rock surface. Overall, the ten were remarkably silent, aside from the irregular wet squelch from the humans' boots, and kept their eyes and ears open for goblins and whatever else was there. Sierra almost jumped when she thought she heard the distant rattle of chains. Gandalf eventually paused to look at scrawled white drawings on one of the walls.

"The wealth of Moria is not in gold, or jewels, but mithril." the wizard spoke softly, but loud enough for all the party to hear. Sierra had heard of mithril, a seemingly magical substance that was hard as steel but light as a feather. Gandalf then focused his staff light to cast out into the depths below and everyone adjusted themselves to look out into the now revealed expanse around, above, and below them. "Bilbo had a set of mithril rings that Thorin gave him." Sierra smiled a little at the mention of Bilbo.

"Oh!" Gimli awed, "That was a kingly gift!"

"Yes!" Gandalf remarked, apparently he was trying to lighten the strained atmosphere, "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the valley of the Shire." Sierra's eyes widened. Bilbo had the wealth of a king that could sit on his hands! No wonder his relatives had wanted the house so badly. They must have wanted to search it from top to bottom for all of Bilbo's treasures.

They traveled far and high into Moria, stopping to eat and sleep for the night in one of the abandoned stone homes. They didn't bother cooking anything, there was hardly any dry firewood; most of it had gotten drenched when the tentacle beast attacked. And it was just as well, who knows what the smells of smoke and cooking food would lure out of the darkness. They again all took watches, this time switching between who would and could watch on what nights, but Sierra had an incredible time just trying to close her eyes. It was well into the second watch that she finally felt herself drifting, praying for something that wasn't a nightmare. Sadly, her subconscious didn't oblige her wishes, giving her horrid dreams that culminated in her lashing out at the hand of Boromir as he shook her awake.

"Easy now, lass, it's just me." He assured her softly. She let out a long breath and apologized, blaming it on the dream. "Come on now, Brander, your turn to watch." So she did. She had no idea how long she was supposed to be on watch, having no sky to give her reference, but after what felt like ages, Gimli came to relieve her of her watch. It had apparently been little more than two hours. This trend continued into the second night where the men decided to relieve Sierra of watch duty in favor of granting her some real rest. She'd ended up sleeping better, but not much, over that and the following night. It was most way through the third day in the mine that they came to three passageways and stopped.

"I have no memory of this place…"Gandalf admitted softly, trying to find which way to go from there. It was decided the Fellowship would set a fire and rest. While it was cool within the mountain, Sierra noted it was certainly much warmer inside than it would be on the pass high above them. The Fellowship warmed around a fire as Gandalf racked his brain for which path led where. Aragorn smoked a pipe beside a thinking Boromir and the watchful Legolas as the hobbits whispered among themselves. Sierra was sitting cross-legged on a boulder and stared into the dark void, thankful for an opening somewhere high above letting in some light of day and all but basked in the feeble shaft of light.

"You doin' alright, lass?" Gimli asked worriedly as he approached Sierra, she'd been awfully quiet ever since they'd faced that beast at the entrance.

"I don't think so," Sierra admitted, keeping her eyes on the void, "I guess I'm just shaken up from the past few days. I should feel better when we're out in the sun again." If Sierra was anything, she was an optimist. A few days in the sun would do everyone considerable good and believing she would be out in the air and sunshine again greatly boosted her spirits.

"Well…alright." Gimli said, turning to go back to his seat, "Nobody blames you, if you're wonderin'." She turned and looked at him questioningly, "Bein' attacked would rattle anyone's cage, let alone by that kind of beast. You're takin' it pretty well overall."

"Thanks Gimli." Sierra said with a small smile and returned to her void gazing and thinking. Sierra was thankful for Gimli's company, he was gruff and didn't often say the best words, but he treated her as a friend and she definitely needed one then. Sierra fondly remembered the people she spoke with online once upon a time, only a few retained labels and names in her memory, though no faces. She wondered if they knew she'd disappeared like she was certain her mother, employer, and landlord would know.

"Ah!" Gandalf finally said loud enough to catch everyone's attention and break Sierra's thoughts, "It's that way." He nodded towards one of the passages.

"He's remembered!" Merry piped in, relieved to finally be heading out of Moria.

"No," Gandalf admitted, "but the air doesn't smell so foul here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose." As one by one everyone approached the opening, they found that the air was indeed not as foul, though only faintly so. Trusting the judgment of their guide, the Fellowship followed him down. Even though Gandalf lit the way, everyone had found it easier to keep track of the others if they held onto the shoulder or clothes of the person before them in the narrow corridor. Sierra's right hand rested on Pippin's corresponding shoulder and Legolas' firm grasp was on her own. Who exactly followed who and in what order, Sierra couldn't tell in such darkness, but she knew Gandalf was at the head and Aragorn the tail, as usual.

* * *

Soon, the group reached an open passageway that permitted Gandalf's staff light to spread more, allowing the party to let go of whoever stood before them and still know where the others were. As Gandalf raised his staff, everyone's jaws dropped as they stared around in awe at the many towering pillars that disappeared into the darkness high above.

"Behold," said Gandalf, "the great realm of the dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf." It was HUGE! The largest contained space Sierra had ever stood in. Gingerly, they all moved into the space and Sierra put a hand on the foot of one of the pillars; it was cool to the touch like the rest of the stone of the mine, but it was still so smooth and the corners were sharp at near perfect ninety degree angles.

"Well, there's an eye opener, no mistake." Sam murmured. Indeed, no king would be able to scoff at the amazing and imposing vision of this pillared hall. As they moved through the vast space, Gimli spotted an open passageway on the right that seemed lit. With a gasp and rush of noise, the dwarf made fast for the door, Gandalf calling after him worriedly. Sierra was the first to follow and found why he was so anxious to see what was here. It was a tomb, and by Gimli's cries of denial, it was for someone he knew and cared deeply about.

"No. Oh…no…" He seemed to shatter then, even moreso than at the entrance to Moria. Sierra squatted next to the broken dwarf and draped her arm around his back, giving him a comforting squeeze. He tried to be strong, show how tough dwarves were, but Gimli was still a person with thoughts and feelings, and Sierra even had to suck in a breath and fight the prickles of tears in her eyes when he sobbed beside her.

"Here lies Balin, son of Hundin…Lord of Moria." Gandalf read the inscription on the top of the sarcophagus. Everyone bowed their heads and Gandalf removed his hat in respect of the lost dwarf. "He is dead then…it's as I feared…" Gandalf too was greatly affected; he had known Balin for many years. Still, Gimli sobbed anew for his lost family and Sierra moved from a one-armed hug to making soothing rubs on the mourning dwarf's broad back. Beside the tomb, Gandalf found a hunched skeleton holding a massive tome, worn with age and bearing a deep slash across its cover.

"We must move on." Sierra heard Legolas whisper behind her, "We cannot linger." She agreed, but also wanted to allow Gimli time to mourn his lost bretherin. She looked at the elf pleadingly as another cry rang from the dwarf; Legolas pursed his lips and looked away. In opening the tome, Gandalf blew away the dust of age and flipped to the final entries in it and began to read them aloud.

"They have taken the bridge," he began, "and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums. Drums in the deep." Whomever wrote this had known his death was coming. It was a warning to any who came after and found the tome. Namely, the Fellowship. Gimli hushed himself to deep, somewhat erratic breaths as Gandalf then turned the page and read further, "We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming." Sierra and everyone else in the room jumped as they heard the loud clattering of metal falling down a tunnel and hitting stone. Pippin had touched an arrow embedded in a corpse and set off the balance that kept helmeted head attached. The action spurred it to clatter down the well the body perched on. Soon after, the whole body tumbled in and dragged down a heavy chain and bucket with it. It all made such a noise and Sierra wondered if anyone outside could have heard it.

Quickly, Sierra and Gimli stood, the grief for the fallen dwarves temporarily set aside. Everyone was silent as their ears strained for any signs of anyone coming, hands hovering over weapons. After a moment, everyone let out relieved sighs. Gandalf snapped the tome shut and set a harsh stare on Pippin.

"Fool of a Took." Gandalf half-whispered, "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity." It was harsh, but Sierra and some of the others inclined to agree that Pippin probably should not have come along on this mission after all. First the Prancing Pony in Bree and now creating such a clatter in Moria; Sierra half expected Balin to pop out of his coffin and tell Pippin to keep silent. Before anything else could be done, they heard it. It was a deep, in-the-bone sound, more felt than heard, and then another came not long after, just the barest hint louder.

"Drums." Sierra whispered, flexing her hands above her twin knives. The booming sounds came from all around them, soon paired with distant screams and calls that sounded too animal to belong even to a goblin. Frodo glanced at his sword, Bilbo's sword Sting, and found it was emitting a soft blue-white glow; he had told them all of Sting at the first camp they had made, that it was an elf sword and glowed blue only when orcs were nearby. What seemed to be screeches and war cries then came out of everywhere.

"Orcs." Legolas hissed, prompting Boromir to check the door. Sierra gasped when two arrows landed in the wood precisely where his head had been a moment ago.

"Get back!" Aragorn commanded Sierra and the Hobbits, "Stay close to Gandalf!" Sierra gladly did so and drew her knives when a booming roar came from the hall. Boromir and Aragorn shut the door and started to brace it.

"They have a cave troll." Boromir commented. Legolas proceeded to toss large battle axes to the two men and together they braced the door as best they could. Gimli took to standing atop Balin's coffin and withdrew his sword and axe. Gandalf and the hobbits pulled forth their blades, the blue glow of Sting pulsed brighter than before. Together, the Fellowship stood and prepared to do battle as the doors groaned and strained at the force against them.

"Let them come." Gimli commanded. His grief now channeled into fury, "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath." Sierra and the others intended to keep this dwarf and each other drawing breath. Legolas' and Aragorn's bows were taut with fresh arrows and the long swords of Boromir and Gandalf sang metallically as they were drawn and swung into position. Sierra rolled her arms and adjusted her grip on her twin knives, the hobbits stood scared but ready for the onslaught, and above them all was Gimli, bearing his axe proudly and with a purpose of vengeance on his mind.

Cruel axes and swords attacked the wooden doors, making openings for the archers to fire through. Legolas' first shot landed true and the beast on the other side squealed in pain. Aragorn's arrow few next as the elven archer readied another, it was a well-placed shot. Sierra worried for her mind when she envisioned the image of goblins being turned into pincushions. At last, one of the doors came free of its hinges and three more arrows flew into the bodies and heads of the charging enemy. Soon though, even the speedy Legolas was overwhelmed and fell back as the orcs and goblins streamed in. Sierra braced herself and parried one hideous sword with her left knife while jamming its twin into the enemy's gut and ripping it free; blood and intestines fell from his belly and Sierra twisted herself to slash the jugular open. She was coated in black blood, but that was one enemy down.

With a beastly snarl, she readied herself for the next attacker. Were it because of the adrenaline or the desire to protect her friends, Sierra didn't know or care. All she knew was that she needed to fight hard to survive this day.

Everyone flew into the battle then, their lessons and prior experiences coming into play. Orcs and goblins lay strewn about, some sliced up and gutted, others beheaded, and many featuring arrows in their skulls and throats while still others remained standing, though not for long. But all of the experience in the world would not have properly trained them to fight the cave troll as it bashed it way into the tomb, destroying the stone doorway in the process. It was massive, pale-skinned, and smelled just as foul as its goblin and orc keepers and bore a hideous face Sierra was sure even a mother could never love.

Legolas was the first to hit the beast, an arrow diving deep into the right side of its chest. The troll's first and nearest target was Sam. In its right hand, the beast carried a massive crossbreed of a hammer and a club and the ground shook when the weapon hit the ground, Sam dodging like a master between the troll's legs. As it turned to stomp on the now prone Sam, Aragorn and Boromir grabbed hold of the chain attached to the beast's collar and pulled hard, knocking it off balance. Sierra watched in fear as the beast swung back around and its hammer club sent Boromir flying into a wall and sufficiently knocked him for a loop. He recovered quickly though, just in time to see Aragorn launch a sword into an enemy's neck like a throwing knife.

'_I have GOT to learn how to do that._' Sierra thought to herself as she sliced open another orc's neck. Most of them had been defeated, but it was that troll that was giving them trouble. Its underbelly was soft enough for arrows and blades to pierce, but its back was tough and seemed molded out of the rock itself. Gimli's axe was the next weapon to land in the beast's chest and by dodging the massive weapon, Gimli inadvertently caused Balin's coffin to be destroyed. Sierra glanced around for the hobbits and spotted them hiding around a corner. Glad they were doing alright, she turned quickly and then immediately ducked down, almost laying her whole front on the floor when the monster swung its hammer her way, killing one of the goblin masters as it swung. She returned to her feet soon enough and retreated from the hulking beast, clambering up to an elevated ledge on the side of the chamber. Legolas lined up two arrows at the beast and fired just as it was about to swing at the temporarily downed Gimli. In that moment a goblin ran up behind the elf archer and Sierra met the ugly thing with both knives in its belly and slashed outward, tearing it apart.

"Thank you." Legolas said, lining up another shot.

"Just watch my back next time and we'll call it even." Sierra answered as more orcs and goblins hurried towards them. Indeed, she was sure the elf was more than capable of watching his own back, but watching Gimli's was stupid because she'd get hit by his wide swings, Gandalf had skills and years beyond anyone present and that showed in this battle, the hobbits were all watching each other very well, and Aragorn and Boromir were seasoned close-combat warriors. Sierra knew Legolas was monstrously aware of is surroundings and would not accidentally hit her in the heat of battle. As she took out another goblin, she heard Legolas shout for her to get down and then felt his arm pulling her down of the way of a flying chain and putting her flat on her back as it sailed overhead. Quickly, she gathered her wits and glanced up at the now standing elf, "Okay, we're even." And she rolled away while Legolas distracted the giant beast and its improvised chain whip.

When she got to her feet, she surprised the last orc on the elevated space and jammed a blade up though the soft flesh under its jaw and into the brain. The orc was dead before she pulled the knife free. Then suddenly the whipping chain stopped, it had coiled itself around a pillar and Sierra watched as Legolas used the chain as a bridge to the cave troll's head. He fired an arrow point blank at the skull, but it ricocheted and landed in pieces at Sierra's feet.

The monster was soon freed of its chain when one of the links snapped apart. While it was unfortunate the beast was free to roam, it didn't have its whip anymore. Sierra heard a strange metallic banging sound and ran to investigate; it was Sam, he'd lost his sword in the fray and was using his frying pan as a weapon. It was working remarkably well.

"I think I'm getting' the hang o' this." He panted as he swung around at another goblin. Sierra ran in to assist and proceeded to quickly slay the ugly enemies Sam had stunned. Soon though, the cave troll had found the three other hobbits.

"Frodo!" Aragorn called out as he jammed his sword into another black blood gullet. He frantically sliced his way to Frodo as the cave troll looked around for the same hobbit hiding behind a pillar. Eventually the thing surprised Frodo so much, he staggered and fell back as the troll approached and grabbed his foot. Sierra saw this and ran to help when an orc grabbed her ankle and tripped her. She ripped her foot free and kicked the orc in the nose hard enough to break it. She hopped to her feet and ran a dagger into the back of the goblin's exposed neck.

"Aragorn!" Frodo called, the troll now threatening to rip his little hobbit feet right off. He managed to slash at the troll's hand, making it let go, but he fell and stunned himself. Thankfully, Aragorn rushed in just then and held the troll back with a spear he had found. Sierra was quick to come around behind with a found battle axe and wrenched it around as hard as she could into the troll's leg. The hide there was tough, but gave slightly to the axe and held it in place. It was like attacking a tree the hide was so tough. The beast roared angrily and dropped its hammer before staggering backward and causing Sierra to fall back, trip, and land hard on a stack of rocks, smacking her head as she landed. She saw stars for the moment and found her chair of rocks to be quite comfortable in her current state. She briefly saw short swords being thrown at the monster and Aragorn was swatted to the side. She couldn't see him well, but he was certainly out cold from the impact.

"Come on lass!" She faintly heard Gimli, it was like he was speaking to her through water, "Come on, get up!" She was roughly hauled up by the dwarf and helped to a safer area where she found blood oozing from the superficial wound on the back of her skull. It took a while to regain her senses, but through that time, Gimli defended her with dual-wielded axes. Then she heard the choked gasp of Frodo. She'd come to her senses in time to watch two hobbits leap from the upper floor and onto the beast, stabbing it repeatedly. She briefly heard Sam's cry to Frodo and then staggered to her feet, hurrying as best as she could over to her friend, dread and nausea manifesting in the pit of her stomach.

Everyone then fought with a fresh fervor, the hobbit they had all joined, had befriended had been mortally wounded. Sierra was the first to his side and carefully flipped him onto his back, pulling out the massive spear from under him. She cradled his face in her hands and patted his cheeks firmly to get his attention, get him to look her in the eyes and say he's okay while she checked for his pulse. The beast still roared as it battled with the members of the Fellowship until finally it took its last wheezes, an elven arrow firmly seated in its windpipe. It crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud and died. Aragorn then came around and rounded to Frodo's side opposite of Sierra. Frodo was gasping for air and looking around, that was a good sign, but it was when he groaned and tried to get up that everyone crowded around the hobbit. He was alive, but it was more than that, he'd been wearing a secret armor that saved him.

A chainmail tunic crafted of finely woven mithril rings.

"You are full of surprises master Baggins." Gimli commented with a smirk. Distantly, there were still the cries of goblins and orcs. But there was also something else, something in the distance was stomping around and it seemed very big.

"To the bridge of Khazad-dûm." Gandalf murmured quickly. Everyone hurried after him, Sierra stumbling from the effects of the knock to her skull as she helped Frodo find his own feet. Gandalf cursed internally, he'd known of this beast and the risk it was to go through Moria and now it threatened the Fellowship.

* * *

**Yes. Detailing that battle was very important. That's why this chapter is longer than the others thus far.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Everyone hurried along as fast as they could behind the gray wizard, Aragorn taking the rear to mind everyone's backs and the others all taking up varying positions as they ran. They heard goblins and orcs chasing them in a massive army, skittering and chattering all around them. The Fellowship could take on twenty orcs and goblins and their cave troll, but hundreds of orcs and goblins and whatever else hid in the dark? It was better to escape than make a stand. Enemies seemed to pour out of the walls themselves. All too late the troupe realized they were surrounded by thousands of the beasts, all of them screeching, roaring, and hissing at the ten travelers. Just then, a gurgling roar rang out above all the chaotic din. Sierra hadn't heard this roar before and she watched as a strange golden light seemed to appear in one of the distant doorways. The roar rang out again and the goblins and orcs scattered like cockroaches, screaming and swearing as they scurried back to the shadows.

"Gandalf…what's going on?" Sierra asked worriedly as the light and source of sound grew closer. Legolas, who had had his bow drawn and prepared for another shot lowered it as he stared disbelieving.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked, more than a little scared. Sierra's brain was telling her to run as far and as fast as possible and her legs shivered and twitched with want to flee. Gandalf remained silent as the last of the enemies fled back into the black of the shadows. Another gutteral roar sounded and Gandalf finally answered.

"A Balrog." He all but hissed. Sierra had no idea what a Balrog was, and she certainly didn't want to find out. She took a tentative step back and gulped nervously. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you." Sierra swore she heard footsteps. BIG footsteps. "Run!" Everyone obeyed the wizard's command, bolting as fast as their legs would carry them. Boromir was moving too fast and almost toppled over the edge of a broken staircase when Legolas caught the man around the chest and pulled him backward to the relative safety of the crumbly ledge.

"What do we do now?!" Sierra asked as she came upon the gathering group, not seeing any other path in her panic.

"Lead them on, Aragon," Gandalf commanded the man as he worked to catch his breath. The wizard indicated a narrow bridge a good long distance away along an equally narrow path. "the bridge is near." Aragorn was hesitant to leave the man behind until he was forcefully shoved away. "Do as I say!" Gandalf commanded, "Swords are no more use here!" the guttural roar sounded even closer than when they were in the hall of pillars. The Fellowship had to move and fast. They hurried along and down very narrow, rail-less stairs. Sierra all but fainted at the prospect; height was another of her innumerable fears. It was the need to get away alive that kept her on her feet. As they descended, the Fellowship was met with a broken gap in the staircase almost as large as a full-grown man was tall.

Legolas was the first to leap across and assisted the others as the Balrog grew closer. Gandalf went first when arrows started flying at them from the ledges high above. Goblins were cowards, yes, but they also were opportunists. Sierra would never cease to be amazed at Legolas' marksmanship and she watched as a figure limply fell from the rafters into the black depths below, an arrow lodged in its skull. Boromir then grabbed hold of Merry and Pippin and leaped the gap just as the staircase crumbled more. Sierra felt sick and her boots seemed glued to the stone steps as she stared at the now wider gap.

"Come on, Sierra!" Legolas beckoned to the woman. It was her turn and she was petrified, it showed on her face and in her frantic breathing. To steady herself, she remembered the last time she'd been too terrified to jump: it was a class trip to a rocky canyon and she was expected to jump from a thirty-foot-high rock into a pool of water who knows how deep. She remembered she'd counted to five and jumped successfully, so she did that again. Though, the distance was much shorter that that leap of faith, in her mind, when she'd reached five, she leaped as far as her legs would push her and found herself in the elf's secure grasp on the other side of the gap. When her feet met the stone, she moved down to make room for the others to make their jumps; she was trembling all over and felt sick for the experience. Aragorn tossed Sam across the gap where he was caught and moved down. When Aragorn moved to toss Gimli, the dwarf stopped him.

"Nobody tosses a dwarf." He said proudly as he gauged his jump. He fell almost too short and it was thanks to Legolas' quick reflexes and him grabbing hold of Gimli's gratuitous beard that the bearded man didn't drop to the endless dark below. "Not the beard!" Gimli shouted as the elf pulled him onto the safe end of the stairs. Sierra stared in horror up at Frodo and Aragorn as the steps again crumbled beneath them, leaving a gap far too large for anyone, even an elf, to leap or be thrown across.

"Frodo! Aragorn!" Sierra called to them as she dodged another goblin arrow. Suddenly, the doorway leading to the hall of pillars was began to glow and the wall crumble. The Balrog was bigger and more fearsome than Sierra thought. A boulder was knocked loose and destroyed the piece that joined the stair to the walkway. As if the world was not done, the support for the staircase the ring-bearer and ranger prince stood on cracked and threatened to topple.

"Lean forward!" Aragorn instructed and Frodo did such. Beyond anything Sierra expected, the falling stairway fell towards the other members of the Fellowship and the man and hobbit safely rejoined the group. Everyone moved swiftly down the stairs, especially Sierra who all but flew down them to get back to solid ground. At last, after frantically running for their lives, the Fellowship was almost at the bridge. Sierra was hating the dwarves for their love of spindly stairs and bridges and would take up the issue with Gimli when they'd escaped this wretched mountain.

"Over the bridge! Fly!" Gandalf shouted as the rest of the group passed by. Sierra was panting and her lungs begged for air; she was thankful for her companions' steadying hands when she tripped or started to slow. Sierra was also thankful to the flames that roared beside them as they ran. Nothing was more instinctive than running from an unrestained fire. Then a massive shadow appeared from the flames, its body seemingly absorbing all the light a fire would cast on it. It had a pair of bull-like horns that framed it's comparatively small head, its long neck was adorned with a mane of flames, and its body, what they could see of it, seemed a cross between man, beast, and winged dragon. The balrog then opened its glowing maw, releasing a guttural roar that reminded Sierra of a massive flame mixed with the gurgling sounds of flowing lava and a rockslide.

Sierra shouted a curse more apt to sailors and old surly dwarves and seemed to accelerate as she crossed the bridge, not daring to look down as she raced towards the safety of the opposite end of the bridge. Soon, all but Gandalf had crossed. The wizard stood at the center of the frail bridge, staff in hand. "YOU CANNOT PASS!" He roared at the massive demon.

"GANDALF!" Frodo shouted when he saw the wizard standing there. The old man was a fool if he thought he could stop the demon. Sierra heard him cast a curse as the demon emitted a bright cloak of fire, summoned a sword of flame, and attacked. She let out a choked scream as Gandalf's shield of light withstood the blade.

"Go back to the shadow!" Gandalf threatened, his staff and sword crossed in front of him. But the demon would listen to no man and took a step onto the spindly bridge, the sword becoming a whip and lashing threateningly at the old man. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" he roared, bringing his staff and sword to meet the ground before him, a white light engulfing him and then dissipating. The demon charged Gandalf and everyone held their breath as the thing fell into the abyss, roaring furiously. Gandalf turned to return to the others when the fire whip rose up and grabbed hold of his ankle, pulling him almost to the edge. Frodo went to run to the wizard and cried out to him pitifully as Boromir held him in place. Likewise, Legolas held Sierra from running to the wizard's aid and she thrashed in his grip, desperate to bring her friend back from the edge. Then Gandalf met their eyes, all of them and Sierra saw the finality in his eyes. With his last ounce of strength, he gave them one last command. "Fly, you fools." And he let go, Sierra and Frodo both screaming in denial as they were carried from the bridge and out into the daylight.

They could not go any further. Some were dumbstruck, others too tired to do anything but sit and mourn, but Sierra fell to her knees, heaved the meager contents of her stomach onto the rocks and sobbed profusely. She had come to love the wizard like she did her grandparents, he was family to her and to Frodo and a dear friend to many people all over Middle-Earth. Losing him and losing him so suddenly was beyond anything she had ever had to experience. Distantly, she heard Aragorn's command to Legolas to move. But the elf seemed loathe to move the broken woman, and so got the others first, letting her vent.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" It was Boromir, he seemed hurt by the situation as well, his strained voice giving him away. It took a great effort to steady their tears and Sierra wiped her bile-covered lips as she tried to wipe away the tears and muffle her gasps for air.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs." Aragorn responded, waving his sword for emphasis, "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien." By then Legolas had reached Sierra's hunched form. Gently, he touched her shoulder and noted the tear streaks and smears on her dirtied face when she looked at him. With a sniffle and a gasping breath to steady herself, she nodded and slowly stood, taking the elf's offered hand to steady her shaking legs. They would mourn Gandalf for the rest of this journey and his memory would strengthen them in the end. Aragorn beckoned to everyone and they moved to him, albeit slowly.

On reaching a stream halfway down the mountain, Sierra dipped a corner of her handkerchief, one that she'd gotten in Hobbiton so long ago, and wiped at her face. The tear stains were starting to itch and she needed to wash out the taste of stomach acid. Sierra rinsed the handkerchief and wrung it out before replacing it in her pocket and kneeled again to scoop the bitingly cold water in her hands and drink. The cold water froze her teeth and cooled her burning throat. She stood and took a shaky breath as she returned to the core of the group.

"Are you…goin' to be alright, lass?" Gimli asked softly as he stood beside her; she nodded silently.

"I will…it's…it's just…" She breathed deep for a moment "Gandalf was like family…" She felt a fresh pinch of tears and stopped herself short. She was not going to let herself stop to cry anymore. She had to be strong, for Gandalf.

* * *

The party reached a thick copse of trees and instantly Sierra felt safer, if more tired than ever before. The trees were old and creaked, but the air was fresh and new. Gimli whispered for the hobbits and Sierra to stay close, warning of a great sorceress, and elf witch, living in the woods. Sierra did as asked, but the forest seemed almost welcoming to her. It was a nice change from the inhospitable mountains and dank, dark caves, though it did nothing to raise her spirits.

"Mister Frodo?" Sam asked as Frodo seemed to glance around frantically. Perhaps the elf witch was speaking to him. As they walked, Sierra was surprised to find an arrow pointed squarely at the space between her eyes and another to her side. Even Legolas a few steps ahead was surrounded. One of them, a fair male elf, came forward. The welcoming atmosphere of the forest had worn off.

"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark." Sierra did not deny it and stared firmly at the elf holding an arrow between her eyes. He had long blonde hair like Legolas and a firm brow, but his jaw was softer, cheekbones more prominent, he had a faint double chin, and his eyes were a pale hazel green. He had the gall to smirk at the lone woman of the group, smug bastard. In return, she stared at him dully; any fight and fire that was in her fell with Gandalf. She knew he saw her puffy eyes and broken demeanor when the smirk disappeared to a look more curious and confused.

It was later that evening that the Fellowship was brought to an elevated platform, blonde elves, some brunettes, and even some red heads all surrounded them and a great majority wore a full quiver and carried a bow. There was no escaping. Not even a thought of escape could be formed before it was almost literally shot down. The lead stranger conversed with Legolas in that Elvish tongue and Sierra wished she knew it so she could find out what they were talking about.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves." Gimli complained, "Speak words we can all understand." Sierra silently thanked the old dwarf.

"We have not had _dealings_ with the dwarves since the dark days." The strange elf all but hissed.

"And you know what this dwarf says to that?" Sierra sensed a fight.

"Gimli, hush." She whispered. The last thing she wanted was an arrow in her or her allies due to a petty argument gone wrong. But Gimli ignored her and muttered something Sierra believed to be very rude and she pursed her lips and looked away. '_Why do I even bother?_' Sierra thought. Thankfully, Aragorn took charge to scold Gimli. Then the strange elf looked dead on at Frodo.

"You bring great evil with you." He said, the slightest edge of fear in his voice. Suddenly he turned and while walking away hurriedly said, "You can go no further." Eventually everyone took to resting on the platform as Aragorn argued their case in whispered Elvish. Sierra caught some names, but little else in the lyrical tongue. Frodo and Sierra were still hurting from the loss of Gandalf and so sat near each other for familiar companionship.

"Gandalf's death was not in vain." Boromir murmured comfort to the two, "Nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. Don't either of you carry the weight of the dead." Sierra understood what he was saying. It was fine to take time to mourn, to honor the dead, but to let that take over and bring you down would be the end to everything they'd set out to do. While Sierra still needed to work to trust him fully, Boromir was a friend at the very least and she accepted his words with a grateful nod. She sighed and leaned back only to run into someone's legs. Immediately, she jolted forward and looked up at the owner of said legs. With knitted brows and a frown, she found it was the same elf who'd stared her down earlier. She saw him send a small smile downward, but she turned away, preferring to ignore the elf. Soon, the elf in charge came to gather them.

"You will follow me." And so they did, hoping he was leading them somewhere safe and that Aragorn and Legolas convinced him they meant no harm or ill will.

* * *

The party followed a long and winding path through the wood, led by the elf in charge, or Haldir as Legolas informed the others, and followed by some of the archers from earlier. When she got the chance, Sierra asked Legolas if he knew the name of the male elf that stared at her; after glancing at the offending elf, Legolas said his name was Faroth, matching the Elvish word meaning to hunt and pursue. She then quietly asked him what words in Elvish translated to 'go away'. He answered with a small smile and very simple word Sierra committed to memory 'ego'. It was a rude way to tell someone to leave, but Legolas believed Sierra wasn't in much of a mood to be polite with a strange elf.

It had taken a long while to travel the late autumn woods, but once they crested the final hill, they paused to admire a copse of massive trees too thick to know what would hide within or even let sunlight peek through the leaves.

"Caras Galadhon." Haldir said, "The heart of Elvendom on Earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light." Sierra wondered if these two elves Haldir mentioned would be anything like Elrond or Arwen or if they were better represented by that Faroth elf that bothered her so much. She didn't have long to ponder and she and the others of the Fellowship were led into the intricate and rather dim pathways of Caras Galadhon. To Sierra, this city better resembled the dwarven city of Moria than Rivendell; it was dark under the thick tree branches and the paths wound around almost aimlessly. Everyone in the Fellowship reminded themselves to try to not get lost in this city's intricate and confusing network.

They were the subject of stares from many passerby elf and even hushed Elvish whispers. Sierra imagined it was due to their dirty, travel-worn appearances. When they finally came to a stop at a delicate-looking and carefully lit structure, they were met by the two most regal looking elves Sierra had ever seen. The male was dressed in a silvery robe and carried himself delicately, but his face seemed tired and time-worn, unlike many of the elves Sierra had met so far. The female, by comparision, was dressed in what appeared to be white, Sierra wasn't sure because the woman herself glowed like starlight and forced some of the Fellowship to squint she shimmered so bright. Her face was delicate and graceful and reminded Sierra very much of her mother, or perhaps it was the gentle way she carried herself. Eventually her light faded and everyone could see the pair more clearly.

This was Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

"The enemy knows you have entered here." Celeborn stated. Sierra wasn't at all surprised, the enemy had been following and predicting their movements ever since Gandalf put them on this quest. Well, Sierra volunteered as did everyone who wasn't Sam or Frodo, but still. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Nine that are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him." Sierra bit the inside of her lip and bowed her head slightly, "I can no longer see him from afar."

"He is gone." Sierra whispered under her breath, not willing to speak aloud but still drawing the eyes of Lady Galadriel.

"Gandalf the Gray did not pass the borders of this land." The Lady half whispered, sounding almost in a trance, "He has fallen into shadow." Softly, Aragorn nodded and Celeborn looked to his Lady.

"He was taken by both shadow and flame." Legolas answered for everyone, "A Balrog of Morgoth." While Celeborn did not project abject fear, anger, or sorrow, his face carried pain, similar to first hearing any bad news involving a friend. "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria." Then Sierra looked up at Legolas.

"It was not needless." She said firmly, the lord and lady and all the others looked to her expectantly. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and spoke towards Lord and Lady elf. "Our intent was to cross the mountain pass of Caradhras, but we were stopped by the white wizard Saruman. He had turned his will and his land of Isengard over to Sauron's command." This drew out almost imperceptibly subtle raised brows on the elves, "As we were crossing, Saruman attempted to bring the mountain on our heads. We needed to turn back. Our only choices then were through the Gap of Rohan or the mines of Moria. Going through Rohan would bring us too close to Isengard and…and we had no knowledge of what was in the mines before we traversed them." Sierra took a second to breathe and keep her emotions from ringing in her words. '_Gandalf must have known exactly what hid in Moria's depths,_' she'd reasoned, '_and that was why he was so hesitant before._' "We became trapped in Moria, the beast guarding one of the doors had brought a rockslide down and destroyed the entrance. What happened from then on to our escape was, more than anything…inevitable."

Sierra had never spoken so politically outside of her debate lessons back at home. And surprised herself by not going beet red from the stress of speaking in front of and to so many important people. Nobody in the Fellowship bore any blame in her explanation, though Pippin bit the inside of his lip very tight, knowingly guilty of inciting the goblin attack and consequently alerting the Balrog to their presence.

"Indeed," Galadriel agreed, "needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose." Sierra and Frodo both looked up at Galadriel curiously, did she know something they did not? "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart Gimli, son of Gloin." Sierra then noticed the dwarf's downcast eyes. He had felt guilty for even suggesting taking Moria to cross the mountains. "For the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands love is now mingled with grief." Sierra was surprised to hear choked back gasps and sobs from Aragorn. She had never seen him break composure except in rage and when Frodo had been stabbed by the Nazgûl blade.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" Celeborn asked, "Without Gandalf, hope is lost."

"Your quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel added, "Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all." Everyone knew the depth of the Lady's words. Even though they had no idea, everyone in Middle-Earth from innocent children to convicted criminals relied on the success of the Fellowship and their secret mission. "Yet hope remains while company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil." Sierra agreed wholeheartedly, she felt she could sleep a week and still not feel fully recovered. "Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

The party was then led to a series of quickly assembled tent rooms, the hobbits all sharing one while the others had shared places to rest; Sierra was the only one granted a private tent for her being the lone woman. They had all been led to the baths and changed into more comfortable clothes. Some had gone to bed immediately, like Gimli, but Sierra had stayed up fishing around in her belongings when she heard the musical and mournful voices of the elves.

"A lament for Gandalf." Legolas stated, bearing a long-necked pitcher of water. Sierra bowed her head and absently rubbed the smooth material of her casual attire, a tunic like Legolas' but a rich blue that matched her travelling vest tunic and a pair of loose-fitting breeches.

"What do they say about him?" Merry asked their elf friend.

"I have not the heart to tell you." He answered sadly, "For me, the grief is still too new." Sierra knew, though, that at the barest they mentioned his valiant adventures and exploits and smiled sadly as tears appeared in her eyes again. She quietly let the tears fall and sent her own silent thoughts of respect and familial love to the fallen wizard. Her hand wrapped around cool metal and she pulled the set of keys to her palm, their faint weight granting her calm memories of home.

"Bet they don't mention his fireworks." Sam added, "Should be a verse about them." Sierra smiled to herself and nodded as Sam continued, building a clumsy and impromptu verse for Gandalf's fireworks. It was by no means elegant or as lyrical as the elves sang and he ended it on an embarrassed note.

"He would have been honored, Sam." Sierra spoke as the hobbit took a seat on his bed. Legolas stopped by Sierra's tent as he was walking to his and Boromir's tent.

"Will you be alright, miss Brander?" the elf asked, remembering how hard she took all of the day's events when they finally escaped the mines. She choked a little and then swallowed forcefully, nodding a confirmation to Legolas; the elf noticed her hand just then gripped tight around her set of keys.

"Yes." She eventually said, "It'll never stop hurting, but I will be fine…in time." Legolas nodded and bid her good night as he continued his path. It never stopped hurting when someone you love and care about dies. Sierra still ached when she remembered the deaths of her four grandparents many years ago, but she smiled too, putting the best memories she had with the faces of the dearly departed. Everyone knew it would take time to heal and move on. Sierra was determined to not let Gandalf's passing end her journey there. The Fellowship still had a very long way to go and a very important mission to complete. Sierra breathed deep and got off her seat to fasten the tent door closed and settle in for the night, her index finger threaded through the loop of her key ring and the keys themselves nested in her palm.

The mournful singing of the elves continued for a long while and in its soothing tone and lilt, Sierra was soon deep asleep.

* * *

**I know it's cheesy to say, but there were quite a few true tears shed in the crafting of this chapter. Gandalf is one of my most favorite movie/story characters of all time and it always hits me hard when I remember his battle with the balrog.**

**Just to let you all know, next week there will be no chapter. I am going on a brief vacation with no internet access and I plan to use the time to finish crafting and editing a few more of these chapters. So remember, April 9 = no story update. Chapter 9 will be posted on April 16.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

The Fellowship had decided to spend a few days in the elven city, just enough time to restock on supplies and rest. Sierra spent the early part of the first day keeping Gimli from losing his sanity in the elven city. Simple things mostly; checking inventory, making sure tools and bags were still trustworthy, sharpening and tuning weapons, and even just talking nonsense. In wandering the city, the two discovered the armory and smithing tools. Gimli was elated to find something he could relate to and the dwarf proceeded to light the forge and shoo all but the most knowledgeable elves from the room, Sierra included. She would try to poke her nose into the room over the stay in the elven city, but Gimli was ever vigilant and shooed her from the chamber any moment he'd sensed so much a whisper of her presence.

So Sierra moved on from the smithy, eventually finding the hobbits enjoying some lunch. Frodo was still somewhat somber, but he had felt much better after having eaten, bathed, and sat in the company of his closest friends. He especially laughed when the others moaned about there being so little meat offered at meals. Sierra blamed it on this place being a home to elves, people bent on the protection of their forest homes with minimal damage, which included managing the population of the wildlife.

Sierra kept herself busy and by late afternoon had explored only a little of the city, not daring to go far without a guide, and found herself lost on stepping beyond her comfort zone. She'd decided to sit and wait in that spot for a while; it was one of the few places she'd seen in the city that had a window to the land outside the massive copse of trees. Also, she knew it was wisest to wait for someone to come along and help when one got lost. Wheather by fortune or curse, she didn't find herself alone in this peaceful place for long.

"Greetings, dear guest." Sierra turned and recognized the elf, it was that Faroth, the one she'd met at the business end of an arrow. Preferring to not be rude, she hummed a brief greeting to the elf, silently hoping he'd leave her alone as she stared out the portal. Instead, he came closer and hovered near her right side, "Pray, are you alright, my lady? You seem bothered."

"I don't know if you've heard, but a dear friend of mine has recently passed from this world." Sierra jabbed tartly.

"Ah…yes, I do know." the elf spoke softly, "Mithrandir, or Gandalf as you know him, was a dear friend to many people. Losing him is a great travesty for all of us." Sierra glanced at him and studied his face. She eventually nodded, taking his words for true grief. It was a moment of silence before he spoke again, "I enethen Faroth. Dhe nathlam hi."

"Pardon?" Sierra turned to him with a questioning expression. He smiled a little and chuckled.

"My name is Faroth. You are welcome here." Faroth supplied with a small smile, "Do forgive me, I believed cund Legolas and Elessar had taught you some of the Elvish tongue."

"I am assuming 'cund' is a title and by 'Elessar' you mean Aragorn." He nodded with a small smile, "No, neither of them have taught me any Elvish. Though I have caught them and…what did you call him? Mithrandir? I have caught them whispering." Sierra had been put off many times by hearing the whispered poetic words and not understanding a thing aside from names. Her spirit came back to her then, "And while we speak pleasantly, do not assume all is forgotten from when we first met."

"Goheno nin. Forgive me." Faroth awkwardly grinned, "It was the command of Haldir. We are ever watchful for strangers in the wood and some are more...conniving than others." Sierra could understand that. The elves that had met the Fellowship in the wood must have been a patrolling party as the Rivendell party that had met her, Aragorn when he was still known as Strider, and three of the four hobbits all that long time ago. Sierra eventually nodded her forgiveness and another quiet passed between them before Faroth again broke it, "Man i enethedh?"

"You seem to insist I can understand you." Sierra said flatly, prompting a chuckle from Faroth.

"'Man i enethedh' means 'what is your name.'" He prompted, "I have not yet gathered it."

"Oh…it's Sierra. Uh, Sierra Brander." She answered, "Call me what you will, but I am not any sort of polite or kindly lady." In his mind he took her remarks as a sort of teasing. Suddenly, they both heard distant calls of one of Sierra's companions, the elf prince Legolas.

"Ah, there you are miss Brander." Sierra turned and nodded, sending a relieved smile to her friend. Faroth quietly watched the brief exchange, noting how stiff and closed off the little human woman was toward him and how openly she carried herself in the presence of Legolas. Said elf stated he'd come to find her to escort her to Lady Galadriel. Apparently, the Lady had some business to do with her. Sierra was the first leave the space and Legolas quickly turned to Faroth, a strange look in his blue eyes. "Avo garo, Faroth." And with that, he went to escort Sierra to her destination. Faroth found himself unnerved at the elf prince's warning, worrying what the royal elf had meant. The undefined implications unnerved him. Faroth huffed as he watched the elf and Sierra, _miss Brander_ he reminded himself, walked off around the corner.

He wasn't one to be put off of the intriguing human woman so easily.

* * *

"I do hope Faroth isn't bothering you too much." Legolas said to Sierra as they walked away from the sunlit alcove, "He is still young, he only just saw his three-hundredth summer." Sierra almost laughed. Three hundred years was _young_ for an elf? She speculated Legolas was also somewhat young, perhaps one thousand years old? No more than three or four thousand, she assumed.

"Faroth is no bother, he is well-mannered, though a bit…flippant at times." Sierra assured Legolas. Elves were generally polite, or so she'd gathered from the elves she'd met, and generally got the idea quickly if there was something you didn't like or didn't want to do. The two companions shared several topics of conversation on the way to where Lady Galadriel wished to see her, each very carefully avoiding anything to do with Gandalf. That wound was still very raw. Eventually they came to a dimmer place of Lothlórien: the place was seemingly cast in a blue light, the narrow path they traveled led off into the blue and around a corner.

"I will wait for you here." Legolas assured Sierra as she walked along, taking care to dust off her tunic before appearing before the Lady of Light. She would be lying if she wasn't nervous. Galadriel was a very unnerving woman, both for being in charge and for just having this eerie aura around her. Further down the path, Sierra found a rounded space and descended the stairs to find Galadriel at the fountain at the far end of the rotunda, filling a long-necked pitcher.

"Welcome, young Sierra." The Lady greeted, turning towards the pedestal in the center of the space, the full pitcher held gracefully in her hands.

"Lady Galadriel." Sierra responded with a curtsy, "You summoned me?"

"Tell me young one, have you heard of this mirror?" Galadriel gingerly filled the bowl on the pedestal with water and when she was finished and glanced at Sierra, waiting for the human's answer.

"No I have not." Sierra answered truthfully, "Though I believe it holds a greater purpose than simply reflecting one's face." Galadriel smiled at that.

"Indeed it does." The Lady confirmed, "This mirror can show what has been, what is, and what may yet be. None yet have seen the same vision twice." Sierra marveled at the bowl and then returned her gaze to Galadriel, who motioned towards the pedestal. "Will you look into the mirror?" Sierra recognized the words as a polite command rather than a question, carefully stepped towards the bowl, and stood on the small step at the base to get a better vantage.

For a moment, Sierra saw only her face, but then the mirror gave her a muddled and mixed vision. The first she would remember as a peaceful one of a stone bench in a green, grassy field, but every image after seemed to blend together in a rage of color. There were images of flames, black-skinned and blooded warriors, the sound of a woman crying in her ears, and the corpses of many men and horses surrounding her with weaponry strewn about. The visions had scared her and Sierra pulled herself back from the bowl, a choked and muffled cry erupting from her.

"I see." Galadriel said softly as Sierra gathered her wits, "You have fears of many things, though mostly fears of failure of your adventure. Some fears may come to pass, but all of it, including your journey home, is dependent on this adventure. It is something that must be accepted." Sierra's eyes widened and she was about to ask Galadriel how she knew when the she-elf answered the unasked question. "This is my mirror, the Mirror of Galadriel. Already I can see into the hearts and minds of those who will allow it, or rather those who are unknowing if this skill. I knew you spoke truthfully to Celeborn and myself when you appeared before us. The mirror merely grants me an additional knowledge of those who look into it." She spoke gently, so as to soothe Sierra, "You have a good, strong heart young Sierra. Follow it always." And with a deep nod, Galadriel dismissed Sierra. Remembering her manners, the human woman shakily curtseyed a farewell and proceeded to where Legolas was still standing. He didn't say anything, but he noted the slightly shaken appearance of his companion. He knew of the Mirror of Galadriel and its powers. It had unnerved him too when he had first glanced into the mirror many decades ago.

"Well…" Sierra said as she reached him, "_that_ was an experience."

"The Mirror can surprise you if you are not prepared for what it shows." Legolas responded sagely. The two then walked in comfortable silence as they journeyed to the dining hall, dinner would be served within the hour.

"It showed me so many visions." She said quietly, "And…I think I heard my mother. She was crying." Sierra frowned. Back home, she would probably be deemed dead by now in terms of police searches. It had been many months. Her rent was due a couple days after the day she vanished, so she wouldn't be gone long before people would miss her. But what after that? She had no idea what was going on at home, and she was scared of it. Legolas could do nothing to comfort the woman but place a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezing. It was not an act common of elves, but he'd seen humans and other peoples do this as an act of comfort and companionship. When she cast a thankful smile up at him, he deemed his task a success.

* * *

The Fellowship's second day in Lothlórien was much like the day prior, though Sierra hardly had any time to even wish Gimli a good morning before he scampered off towards the armory for the day. What the excitable dwarf was doing in there, she had no idea. Everyone else had also taken to their own thing: pouring over maps and planning what routes to take, repairing and replacing necessary items, and sometimes just thinking. The woman decided to wear a casual coppery dress, the same one she wore on the day members the council arrived in Rivendell, and let herself explore. In wandering the city, Sierra soon found herself being followed by a small flock of small elf children, whispering Elvish words.

"I can hear you." Sierra called as she turned to the children. They all squeaked and ran to hide around a corner. Sierra had seen kids do this before, it was all playful behavior. "You can come out, I don't bite." Shyly, a little girl with finely braided hair came forward and Sierra kneeled to her height.

"De vaethor veleg dî. Y-you're the…the warrior w-woman." She said, struggling through the common tongue. She must have only just begun learning it.

"Yes, I am." Sierra answered, then wracking her brain for what it was Faroth had said to her the day before, "I enethen Sierra Brander. Man i enethedh?" It was considerably more clumsy and ill-pronounced than if an elf had said it, but her words had the desired effect. Immediately the little girl brightened up and introduced herself: Anatuiel. She was a mere forty-five years old, barely beyond a toddler in terms of elf years, though Sierra would equate her age to about six or seven years were she a human child. She had pretty blue-hazel eyes and long honey blonde hair pulled back in a thick braid with fine accent braids along her temple. The two elf children that were with her came out of hiding and stood beside Anatuiel: one was a little brunette girl with blue eyes named Lasedrien and the last was a little redhead boy with pale blue eyes named Nasaion. Both the second little girl and little boy were thirty-seven, not fraternal twins but simply children who share the same birth year.

It was some time later when Boromir and Aragorn wandered by and found Sierra in the middle of having her hair carefully and skillfully braided back by Anatuiel while she told inane stories to the two younger children. Sierra very much enjoyed revisiting the stories of games and cartoons she'd played and watched at home and the two in front of her seemed most enthralled as she finished her story of a great warrior-mage who could speak the language of dragons and brought peace to an icy, war-torn land.

"It seems you are making friends, Brander." Boromir called from a short distance off. Sierra was trapped with her head facing forward while Anatuiel worked but sent a sideways grin at her travel companion.

"What can I say?" Sierra said, "I turn to butter when I'm around children. Would you like to join us? You've got plenty of hair for Anatuiel to braid." The children all laughed as Boromir quickly guided Aragorn away from the four, determined to keep his and his companion's greasy long locks free of braids. Soon enough, Anatuiel finished and pulled Sierra to a nearby fountain where she could check her reflection. The human knew the braids weren't all even, but she was more than satisfied and thanked the little girl pleasantly as an older elf woman called Anatuiel, Lasedrien, and Nasaion away. Their tutor? Or a mother of one of them? Sierra didn't know, but she'd then wandered back to her tent, hoping to ask the hobbits if they'd join her for lunch.

* * *

Sierra was conversing with Frodo and Sam into the afternoon and they all agreed to write two letters. One would be addressed to the pretty barmaid in the Shire that Sam had taken a liking to, Rosie Cotton was her name, and the second would be sent to Rivendell, addressed to Bilbo. Sierra figured that if Bilbo had left Rivendell, Elrond or some other elf would know where he'd gone and pass the message on. Sam and Frodo then headed out to find Merry and Pippin to encourage them to send like letters to their families back home and Sierra rubbed her now almost numb scalp. She loved Anatuiel's braiding, but they were much too tight and needed to come out. She struggled for a short time before Legolas found her in her tent.

"Is it safe to assume you did not do this to yourself?" The prince asked teasingly.

"I met a little one named Anatuiel and her friends. She insisted, I bent." Sierra shrugged as she worked to free one particularly difficult twist. With a small laugh, Legolas gently swatted her hands away and guided her to sit as he stood behind her and worked to quickly and carefully release the taut strands. With as many years as Legolas had, Sierra found it expected that he'd know how to tie and untie hair braids. What she didn't expect was how nice it would feel having someone treat her hair so gently. The act reminded her of when she would visit a salon back home; they would always give her hair a soothing wash. Legolas asked her a question she didn't quite hear. "I'm sorry, can you say that again? My mind was elsewhere."

"I asked if you had known what meaning she had braided in your hair." Legolas repeated, gently stroking out the human woman's hair as he freed the many child-made braids.

"There's meaning in how your hair is braided?" Sierra asked, feeling another lock of hair come free.

"So, that's a no." Legolas murmured with a laugh, "Yes, there are meanings to the braids you wear: warrior braids as mine, Haldir's, and Faroth's, maiden braids, wedding braids, child braids, and there are braids that indicate availability and looking for a lover." Sierra hummed an acknowledgment, hearing what he was saying but also very much lulled by the prince elf's delicate and soothing actions. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "The braids you wore just now were among that last group." That had Sierra blushing and unnervingly aware of her surroundings, the soothing lull gone and the laxness in her body replaced by awkward stiffness. Legolas then straightened to resume freeing the woman's hair.

"I am going to give Anatuiel the benefit of the doubt and believe she didn't do it on purpose." Sierra answered stiffly, staring pointedly forward as Legolas again ran his fingers through her now almost entirely free hair. There were new butterflies in her stomach, inspired by what Legolas had said and very possibly from how delicately he worked on her hair. Finally, the elf had freed the last of the braids and when he had finished combing out her mane, he stepped away and allowed Sierra to run her own hands through her hair.

"I finneg vain." Legolas complimented her and she turned to ask what he'd said. Rather than translate, he said instead, "Should you wish to have your hair braided appropriately, feel free to ask me." And with that, he left Sierra to her thoughts. It was some time before Sierra got up and left her tent, her hair slightly waved from the braided abuse it suffered earlier that day. She wandered from place to place, but eventually found herself lost among the paths of the elf city. Thankfully, not for long.

"Dhe suilon. Greetings." Faroth called as he came across the human woman from the day before. She seemed relieved to have found someone familiar in the maze.

"Hello Faroth…um…hey, you know how to get back to the city proper, right?" Sierra asked.

"Of course." Faroth replied with a nod and he politely offered an arm to the woman. Sierra hesitated a moment, still not quite used to the mannerisms of Middle-Earth, and gently laced her hand into the crook of the elf's arm. The elf escorted Sierra through the seemingly jumbled pathways, describing some of the layout the paths would take: some wound through the hardly used underground tunnels, this one would lead to that neighborhood and that one would lead to the marketplace. The two spoke amiably, some of what life was like in an elven city and how it compared to life in the Shire, but mostly about little things: what they liked to eat, what was fun, and what made them cringe. Sierra was surprised to find that Faroth had an unnerving dislike towards spiders, until she heard about how large the spiders could get in Legolas' home of Mirkwood. I was not long after that the two came upon a familiar path.

"Finally, some scenery I recognize." Sierra said in relief as she released Faroth's arm in favor of grasping her skirt, and glanced around the space excitedly to appropriately orient her location.

"I trust you can find your way from here, miss Brander?" Faroth asked her, folding his hands together behind his back.

"Ah! Yes, I can." Sierra answered, "Thank you for helping me get back here, Faroth. I dread thinking how long it would have taken me to find my way back on my own." The elf laughed gently at her awkward shuffling. She turned her head quickly when she spotted the dwarf Gimli out of the corner of her eye, an unconscious signal for Faroth to take his leave.

"That is good to hear. No vain i arad, may the day be fair to you." And with a returning nod from Sierra, he meandered off to another path and disappeared around a corner. Sierra then scurried off towards Gimli to interrogate him on what he'd been doing all day, unaware that Faroth had backtracked to watch as she made her way. Quietly, he hummed to himself as an idea came to him and proceeded the way he had intended to go before meeting Sierra.

* * *

On the third day, the last day the Fellowship intended to stay in Lothlórien, Sierra had asked Legolas to help her figure out the appropriate braids for her, though not without some fidgeting. What had happened the day before still rang long and loud in her mind, but she wanted to learn what braid would be most appropriate to her. In the end, the elf and woman decided on a simple, practical braid that Legolas had called a rogue's braid. Sierra recognized it as a French braid. The braid was short, Sierra didn't have much hair to work with compared to many of the elves, and began at the crown of her head and the ends tickled at the nape of her neck. It was a tight and well-crafted braid.

She had met Anatuiel and thanked her again for the braids from the day before, though the little girl had a somewhat devious giggle as Sierra walked away. The woman ran into Sam during the day and he assured her that there would be four letters sent out later that day, three to home and the fourth to Bilbo, wherever he was. For the first time that day she had seen Gimli outside of the smithy. He assured her he was hard at work and she would see what he had been working with on the day they all left. He was a strange little dwarf. Bormir and Aragorn were found to be practicing with the four hobbits in the afternoon, keeping their skills sharp. Soon, she found herself wandering back to the alcove she had been in on the first day and soon she'd found herself in familiar company.

"Gi suilon, Brander." Faroth greeted Sierra as he approached. She sent him a small smile and nodded a polite greeting in return. "I see you wear your hair differently today." Faroth commented appreciatively. The braid was smooth and carefully crafted, reflecting almost coppery in the light of the space.

"After a near social debacle yesterday, Legolas was kind enough to undo that mistake for me when I struggled to undo it myself. This morning he helped me put my hair into this." At the mention of Legolas, Faroth twitched slightly, glancing down at the woman beside him carefully. Judging by how calm she was and how innocently she mentioned it, Faroth figured the action didn't imply what he thought it did.

"Who, may I ask, was responsible for this 'debacle'?" Faroth prompted amicably.

"A young one named Anatuiel." That seemed to explain everything as Faroth tried and failed to muffle a snort of laugher. He supplied that Anatuiel was notorious for pulling tricks on people, though it was considerably more difficult to pull a trick on an elf, especially after you had tricked them once. A female human stranger was almost too easy a target. The two conversed aimlessly until once again they had a block of silence between them.

"I finneg bain." Faroth said with a smile. Sierra realized it sounded very similar to what Legolas had said to her the day before and when she looked questioningly at Faroth, he loosely translated, "Your hair looks nice this way." Sierra blushed a little and turned to look out the window at the trees. She brought her right hand up to grasp her left elbow and hunched up a little with a small smile on her face. In the corner of her eye, she saw Faroth reach into a pouch on his hip and he pulled out a small pearly white stone, smooth and rounded and just a little bit flattened with an intricate elven symbol embedded on the flatter side. "Savo hen, take this. It isn't much, but I would be honored if you would keep this with you on your journey, miss Brander." Faroth gently took her hand and placed the stone in it, "It is a stone from one of our many rivers. It should bring you good fortune in your travels." He gently curled her fingers around the stone and Sierra stared down at the elf's hand, a blush growing on her face.

"Faroth, I…thank you." Sierra couldn't put together words and the elf released her hand.

"No dirweg. Na lû n'i a-goveninc mellon." With a smile and a polite bow, Faroth dismissed himself and wandered away from the stunned Sierra. She had stood there for a short while after, blushing and incapable of doing anything other than stand and try to process what the admittedly handsome elf had said and done. It was a conundrum, did Faroth foster a liking for her? Or was he just being polite? She needed to remember to pester Aragorn and Legolas to teach her Elvish so she could at least know what everyone was talking about.

* * *

**It's good to be back home, though I admit I didn't do as much writing as I would like to have done. I had too much fun playing games and putting responsibilities off to the side for a while.**

**Anyway, I completely made up what was said about braids. I do believe there is meaning behind the braids elves and dwarves wear, but no two sources seemed to agree on meanings for the people of the Tolkien world. So I decided to wing it.**

**I'm tempted to leave most of the Elvish I put in without translation. I think it gives a better feel to how Sierra feels about strange Elvish being used around her. Just so you know, I am not fluent in Tolkien Elvish, so I apologize if any of this has been butchered. I found quite a few sources for the Elvish I've typed, but the most complete and believable reference I've found belongs to realelvish. Feel free to check it out.**


End file.
